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9 "Warren Street. 








Albertus Magnus Vindicated, 712 
America's Obligation to France, 836 
Ancients, the Writing Materials of the, 126 
Animas, Las, 353 
Animals, Love for, 543 

Bishop Timon, 86 

Bordeaux, 158 

Brebeuf, Memoir of Father John, 512, 623 

Carlyle and Pere Bouhours, 820 

Catholic Associations, Spirit of, 652 

Catholicity and Pantheism, 554 

Cayla, A Pilgrimage to, 595 

Cecilia, Saint, 477 

Church, The, Accredits herself, 145 

Church, What our Municipal Laws owe to the, 

Civilization, Origin of, 492 

Dion and the Sibyls, 56 

Dona Kortuna and Don Dinero, 130 

Dollinger, The Apostasy of, 415 

Education and Unification, i 
Education, On Higher, 115 
Egbert Stanway, 377 

Egyptian Civilization according to the most Re- 
cent Discoveries, 804 
England, The Serial Literature of, 619 
Europe's Future, 76 

Flowers, 305 

Froude and Calvinism, 541 

France, America's Obligation to, 836 

Future, The Present and the, 452 

Galitzin, The Mother of Prince, 367 

Geneva, The Catholic Church in, 847 

Genzano and Frascati, 737 

Good Gerard of Cologne, The, 797 

Gottfried von Strassburg's Hymn to the Virgin, 

Independent, A Word to TAe, 247 
Infallibility, 577 
Ireland, Ancient Laws of, 635 
Ireland. The Lord Chancellors of, 228 
Irish Martyr, An, 433 

Italian Guarantees and the Sovereign Pontiff, 

Laws, Municipal, and the Church, 342 
Letter from Rome, 134 
Letter from the President of a College, 281 
Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius, 772 
Locket, The Story of an Algerine, 643 
Lourdes, Our Lady of, 98, 255, 396, 527, 662, 825 
Lucas Garcia, 785 

Mary Benedicta, 207 

Mary Clifford's Promise Kept, 447 

Mexican Art and its Michael Angelo, 334 

On Higher Education, 115 

Our Lady of Guadalupe, 189 

Our Lady of Laurdes, 98, 255, 396, 527, 662, 825 

Our Northern Neighbors, 108 

Page of the Past and a Shadow of the Future, A, 


Pantheism. Catholicity and, 554 
Pau, 504 

Pere Jacques and Mademoiselle Adrienne, 677 
Present and the Future, The, 452 
Protestantism, Statistics of, in the U. S., 195 

Reformation, The, Not Conservative, 721 
Rome, How it Looked Three Centuries Ago, 358 
Rome, Letter from, 134 

Saintship, False Views of, 424 

Santa Restituta, Legend of, 276 

Sardinia and the Holy Father, 289 

Sauntering, 35 

Sayings of the Fathers of the Desert, 274 

Scepticism of the Age, The, 391 

Secular, The, Not Supreme, 685 

Shamrock Gone West, The, 264 

Sor Juan Inez de la Cruz, 47 

Spanish America, Dramatic Moralists in, 702 

Statistics of Protestantism in the U. S., 195 

St. Januarius, Liquefaction of the Blood of, 772 

The Church Accredits Herself, 145 
Unification, Education and, i 

What Our Municipal Laws Owe to the Church, 

Writing Materials of the Ancients, 126 

Yorke, The House of, 15, 169, 317, 461, 604, 746 




"Amen" of the Stones, The, 16 
A Pie IX., 684 

Disillusioned, 489 
Gualberto's Victory, 96 
King Cormac's Choice, 413 
On a Great Plagiarist, 206 
Rose, The, 571 

Saint John Dwarf, 357 

Sancta Dei Genitrix, 771 

Sonnet, 603 

St. Francis and St. Dominic, 745 

St. Francis of Assisi, 133 

St. Mary Magdalen, 511 

The Cross, 14 

The True Harp, 594 

To the Crucified 352 

Vespers, 273 
Warning, The, 125 


Allies' St. Peter, 860 

Anderson's Historical Reader, 855 

Appleton's Annual Cyclopaedia, 575 

Barker's Text-Book of Chemistry, 142 
Bret Harte's Poems, 144 

Caddell's Never Forgotten; or, The Home of 
the Lost Child, 853 

Catechism Illustrated, The, 854 

Clement's Hand-Hook of Legendary and Mytho- 
logical Art, 143 

Coleridge's Theology of the Parables, 432 

Conyngham's Sarsfield, 143 

Curtius's History of Greece, 575 

Cusack's History of Kerry, 855 

Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, 573 
Elia; or, Spain Fifty Years Ago, 141 

Fairbanks's History of Florida, 857 
Familiar Discourses to the Young, 288 
Fifty Catholic Tracts, 430 
Folia Ecclesiastica, 144 

Gaskin's Irish Varieties, 142 
Glosswood, The Countess of, 288 

Hamilton's Golden Words, 860 
Heaven, The Happiness of, 286 
Hefele on the Christian Councils, 718 
Hemenway's Vermont, 857 
Higginson's Sympathy of Religions, 286 
Holy Exercise of the Presence of God, 854 
Holmes on Mechanism in Thought and Morals, 

Historical Gazetteer, 857 

Illustrated Catholic Suaday-School Library, 573 
Jesus and Jerusalem, 140 

Kellogg's Arthur Brown, 143 
Keon's Dion and the Sibyls, 429 

La Grange's Thecla, 432 
Lallemant's Spiritual Doctrine, 287 
Lebon's Holy Communion, 573 
Life and Writings of De Montfort, 141 
Life of St. Gertrude, 859 

Martyrs Omitted by Foxe, 575 
Meditations on the Litany of the Most Holy Vir- 
gin, 43i 

Miles's Truce of God, 574 
Moran s Life of Archbishop Plunkett, 574 858, 
Mrs. Stowe's Pink and White Tyranny, 859 
Mulrenan's Sketch of the Church on Long Is- 
land, 854 

Natural History of New York, 432 

Oakeley's Priest on the Mission, 719 
Perrone's Divinity of Christ, 286 

Rome and Geneva, 285 

Russell's My Study Windows, 427 

Seelye on Roman Imperialism, 141 

Sestini'-s Manual of Geometrical Analysis, 856 

Seton's Romance of the Charter Oak, 288 

Starr's Patron Saints, 853 

Stowe's Little Pussy Willow, 144 

Sullivan's Prayers and Ceremonies of the Mass, 

Synchronology of Sacred and Profane History, 


Vaughan's Life of St. Thomas Aquin, 427 

Weiss's American Religion, 720 

West's State of the Dead, 574 

Whipple's Literature and Art, 430 

Wonders of European Art, 576 

Wonders of the Heavens, 432 

Young's Catholic Hymns and Canticles, 719 



VOL. XIIL, No. 73. APRIL, 1871. 


THE Hon. Henry Wilson, recently 
re-elected senator in Congress from 
Massachusetts, may not be distin- 
guished as an original thinker or as 
a statesman of commanding ability, 
but no man is a surer index to his 
party or a more trustworthy expo- 
nent of its sentiments and tenden- 
cies, its aims and purposes. This 
gives to his article in The Atlantic 
Monthly, indicating the policy to be 
pursued by the Republican party, a 
weight it might not otherwise possess. 

Mr. Wilson is a strong political par- 
tisan, but he is above all a fervent 
Evangelical, and his aim, we pre- 
sume, is to bring his political party 
to coincide with his Evangelical par- 
ty, and make each strengthen the 
other. We of course, as a Catholic 
organ, have nothing to say of ques- 
tions in issue between different politi- 
cal parties so long as they do not in- 
volve the rights and interests of our 

* New Departure of the Republican Party. By 
Henry Wilson. The Atlantic Monthly, Bos- 
ton, January, 1871. 

religion, or leave untouched the funda- 
mental principles and genius of the 
American system of government, al- 
though we may have more or less to 
say as American citizens ; but when 
either party is so ill-advised as to aim 
a blow either at the freedom of our 
religion or at our federative system 
of government, we hold ourselves 
free, and in duty bound, to warn our 
fellow-citizens and our fellow-Catho- 
lics of the impending danger, and 
to do what we can to avert or ar- 
rest the blow. We cannot, without 
incurring grave censure, betray by our 
silence the cause of our religion or of 
our country, for fear that by speak- 
ing we may cross the purposes of one 
or another party, and seem to favor 
the views and policy of another. 

Mr. Wilson's New Departure is 
unquestionably revolutionary, and 
therefore not lawful for any party 
in this country to adopt. It is ex- 
pressed in two words, NATIONAL 
CATION that is, the consolidation of 

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by REV. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of 
the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 

Unification and Education. 

all the powers of government in the 
general government, and the social 
and religious unification of the Ame- 
rican people by means of a system 
of universal and uniform compulsory 
education, adopted and enforced by 
the authority of the united or conso- 
lidated states, not by the states seve- 
rally each within its own jurisdiction 
and for its own people. The first 
is decidedly revolutionary and de- 
structive of the American system of 
federative government, or the divi- 
sion of powers between a general 
government and particular state 
governments; the second, in the 
sense proposed, violates the rights 
of parents and annihilates the reli- 
gious liberty secured by the constitu- 
tion and laws both of the several 
states and of the United States. 

The general government, in our 
American political system, is not the 
national government, or any more 
national than the several state gov- 
ernments. The national government 
with us is divided between a general 
government having charge of our re- 
lations with other powers and inter- 
nal matters of a general nature and 
common to all the states, and par- 
ticular state governments having 
charge of matters local and particu- 
lar in their nature, and clothed with 
all the powers of supreme national 
governments not expressly delegated 
to the general government. In the 
draft of the federal constitution re- 
ported by the committee to the con- 
vention of 1787, the word national 
was used, but the convention finally 
struck it out, and inserted wherever 
it occurred the word general, as more 
appropriately designating the charac- 
ter and powers of the government 
they were creating. It takes under 
our actual system both the state gov- 
ernments and the general govern- 
ment to make one complete national 
government, invested with all the pow- 

ers of government. By making the 
general government a supreme nation- 
al government, we make it the source 
of all authority, subordinate the state 
governments to it, make them hold 
from it, and deprive them of all inde- 
pendent or undivided rights. This 
would completely subvert our system 
of government, according to which 
the states hold their powers imme- 
diately from the political people, and 
independently of any suzerain or over- 
lord, and the general government 
from the states or the people orga- 
nized as states united in convention. 
A more complete change of the gov- 
ernment or destruction of the federa- 
tive principle, which constitutes the 
chief excellence and glory of our sys- 
tem, it would be difficult to propose, 
or even to conceive, than is set forth 
in Mr. Wilson's programme. 

Mr. Wilson, however, is hardly 
justified in calling the revolution he 
proposes a " New Departure." It 
has been the aim of a powerful party, 
under one name or another, ever since 
1824, if not from the origin of the 
government itself. This party has 
been steadily pursuing it, and with 
increasing numbers and influence, 
ever since the anti-slavery agitation se- 
riously commenced. At one time, and 
probably at all times, it has been 
moved chiefly by certain business 
interests which it could not advance 
according to its mind by state legisla- 
tion, and for which it desired federal 
legislation and the whole power of 
a national government, but which it 
could not get because the constitu- 
tion and the antagonistic interests 
created by slave labor were opposed 
to it. It then turned philanthropist 
and called in philanthropy to its aid 
philanthropy which makes light 
of constitutions and mocks at state 
lines, and claims the right to go 
wherever it conceives the voice of 
humanity calls it. Under the pretext 

Unification and Education. 

of philanthropy, the party turned 
abolitionist, and sought to bring un- 
der the action of the general govern- 
ment the question of slavery mani- 
festly reserved to the states several- 
ly, and which it belonged to each to 
settle for itself in its own way. A 
civil war followed. The slaves were 
emancipated, and slavery abolished, 
professedly under the war-power of 
the Union, as a military necessity, 
which nobody regrets. But the par- 
ty did not stop here. Forgetful that 
the extraordinary war-power ceases 
with the war, and military necessity 
can no longer be pleaded, it has, un- 
der one pretext or another, such as 
protecting and providing for the freed- 
men and reconstructing the states 
that seceded, continued to exercise it 
ever fcince the war was over, and by 
constitutional amendments of doubt- 
ful validity, since ratified in part under 
military pressure by states not yet re- 
constructed or held to be duly orga- 
nized states in the Union, it has 
sought to legitimate it, and to incor- 
porate it into the constitution as one 
of the ordinary peace -powers of the 

The party has sometimes coincided, 
and sometimes has not strictly coincid- 
ed, with one or another of the great 
political parties that have divided the 
country, but it has always struggled 
for the consolidation of all the powers 
of government in the general gov- 
ernment. Whether prompted by busi- 
ness interests or by philanthropy, its 
wishes and purposes have required 
it to get rid of all co-ordinate and 
independent bodies that might inter- 
fere with, arrest, or limit the power 
of Congress, or impose any limitation 
on the action of the general govern- 
ment not imposed by the arbitrary 
will of the majority of the people, ir- 
respective of their state organization. 

What the distinguished senator 
urges we submit, therefore, is simply 

the policy of consolidation or cen- 
tralization which his party has steadi- 
ly pursued from the first, and which 
it has already in good part consum- 
mated. It has abolished slavery, and 
unified the labor system of the Un- 
ion ; it has contracted a public debt, 
whether needlessly or not, large 
enough to secure to the consolidation 
of the powers of a national govern- 
ment in the general government the 
support of capitalists, bankers, rail- 
road corporators, monopolists, spe- 
culators, projectors, and the business 
world generally. Under pretence of 
philanthropy, and of carrying out 
the abolition of slavery, and abolish- 
ing all civil and political distinctions 
of race or color, it has usurped for 
the general government the power to 
determine the question of suffrage 
and eligibility, under the constitution 
and by the genius of our govern- 
ment reserved to the states severally, 
and sends the military and swarms 
of federal inspectors into the states 
to control, or at least to look after, 
the elections, in supreme contempt of 
state authority. It has usurped for 
the general government the power 
of granting charters of incorporation 
for private business purposes else- 
where than in the District of Colum- 
bia, and induced it to establish na- 
tional bureaus of agriculture and edu- 
cation, as if it was the only and un- 
limited government of the country, 
which it indeed is fast becoming. 

The work of consolidation or uni- 
fication is nearly completed, and there 
remains little to do except to effect the 
social and religious unification of the 
various religions, sects, and races that 
make up the vast and diversified 
population of the country ; and it is 
clear from Mr. Wilson's programme 
that his party contemplate moulding 
the population of European and of 
African origin, Indians and Asiatics, 
Protestants and Catholics, Jews and 

Unification and Education. 

pagans, into one homogeneous people, 
after what may be called the New 
England Evangelical type. Neither 
his politics nor his philanthropy can 
tolerate any diversity of ranks, con- 
ditions, race, belief, or worship. A 
complete unification must be effected, 
and under the patronage and authori- 
ty of the general government. 

Mr. Wilson appears not to have 
recognized any distinction between 
unity and union. Union implies plu- 
rality or diversity; unity excludes 
both. Yet he cites, without the least 
apparent misgiving, the fathers of 
the republic Washington, Adams, 
Jefferson, Hamilton, Jay, and Madi- 
son who were strenuous for the un- 
ion of the several states, as authori- 
ties in favor of their unity or conso- 
lidation in one supreme national go- 
vernment. There were points in 
which these great men differed among 
themselves some of them wished to 
give more, some of them less, power 
to the general government some of 
them would give more, some of them 
less, power to the executive, etc., but 
they all agreed in their efforts to esta- 
blish the union of the states, and not 
one of them but would have opposed 
their unity or consolidation into a 
single supreme government. Mr. 
Wilson is equally out in trying, as 
he does, to make it appear that the 
strong popular sentiment of the Ame- 
rican people, in favor of union, is a 
sentiment in favor of unity or unifi- 

But starting with the conception 
of urtity or consolidation, and re- 
solving republicanism into the abso- 
lute supremacy of the will of the 
people, irrespective of state organi- 
zation, Mr. Wilson can find no stop- 
ping-place for his party short of the 
removal of all constitutional or or- 
ganic limitations on the irresponsible 
will of the majority for the time, which 
he contends should in all things be 

supreme and unopposed. His re- 
publicanism, as he explains it, is there- 
fore incompatible with a well-order- 
ed state, and is either no govern- 
ment at all, but universal anarchy, or 
the unmitigated despotism of majo- 
rities a despotism more oppressive 
and crushing to all true freedom and 
manly independence, than any au- 
tocracy that the world has ever seen. 
The fathers of the republic never 
understood republicanism in this 
sense. They studied to restrict the 
sphere of power, and to guard against 
the supremacy of mere will, whether 
of the monarch, the nobility, or the 

But having reached the conclusion 
that true republicanism demands uni- 
fication, and the removal of all re- 
strictions on the popular will, Mr. 
Wilson relies on the attachment of 
the American people to the republi- 
can idea to carry out and realize his 
programme, however repugnant it 
may be to what they really desire 
and suppose they are supporting. 
He knows the people well enough to 
know that they do not usually discri- 
minate with much niceness, and that 
they are easily caught and led away 
by a few high-sounding phrases and 
popular catchwords, uttered with due 
gravity and assurance perhaps he 
does not discriminate very nicely, and 
is himself deceived by the very phrases 
and catchwords which deceive them. 
It is not impossible. At any rate, 
he persuades himself unification or 
consolidation can be carried forward 
and effected by appeals to the repub- 
lican instincts and tendencies of the 
American people, and secured by aid 
of the colored vote and woman suf- 
frage, soon to be adopted as an es- 
sential element in the revolutionary 
movement. The colored people, it 
is expected, will vote as their preach- 
ers direct, and their preachers will 
direct as they are directed by the 

Unification and Education. 


Evangelicals. The women who will 
vote, if woman suffrage is adopted, 
are evangelicals, philanthropists, or 
humanitarians, and are sure to follow 
their instincts and vote for the unifi- 
cation or centralization of power 
the more unlimited, the better. 

But the chief reliance for the per- 
manence in power of the party of 
consolidation is universal and uni- 
form compulsory education by the 
general government, which Avill, if 
adopted, complete and preserve the 
work of unification. Education is 
the American hobby regarded, as 
uneducated or poorly educated peo- 
ple usually regard it, as a sort of pa- 
nacea for all the ills that flesh is heir 
to. We ourselves, as Catholics, are 
as decidedly as any other class of 
American citizens in favor of uni- 
versal education, as thorough and 
extensive as possible if its quality 
suits us. We do not, indeed, prize 
so highly as some of our countrymen 
appear to do the simple ability to 
read, write, and cipher; nor do we 
believe it possible to educate a whole 
people so that every one, on attain- 
ing his majority, will understand the 
bearing of all political questions or 
comprehend the complexities of 
statesmanship, the effects at large of 
all measures of general or special 
legislation, the bearing on productive 
industry and national wealth of this 
or that financial policy, the respec- 
tive merits of free trade and protec- 
tion, or what in a given time or 
given country will the best secure in- 
dividual freedom and the public good. 
This is more than we ourselves can 
understand, and we believe we are 
better educated than the average 
American. We do not believe that 
the great bulk of the people of any 
nation can ever be so educated as to 
understand the essential political, fin- 
ancial, and economical questions of 
government for themselves, and they 

will always have to follow blindly 
their leaders, natural or artificial. 
Consequently, the education of the 
leaders is of far greater importance 
than the education of those who are 
to be led. All men have equal na- 
tural rights, which every civil govern- 
ment should recognize and protect, 
but equality in other respects, wheth- 
er sought by levelling downward or 
by levelling upward, is neither prac- 
ticable nor desirable. Some men are 
born to be leaders, and the rest are 
born to be led. Go where we will 
in society, in the halls of legislation, 
the army, the navy, the university, the 
college, the district school, the family, 
we find the few lead, the many fol- 
low. It is the order of nature, and we 
cannot alter it if we would. Nothing 
can be worse than to try to educate 
all to be leaders. The most pitiable 
sight is a congressional body in which 
there is no leader, an army without 
a general, but all lead, all command 
that is, nobody leads or commands. 
The best ordered and administered 
state is that in which the few are well 
educated and lead, and the many 
are trained to obedience, are willing 
to be directed, content to follow, and 
do not aspire to be leaders. In the 
early days of our republic, when the 
few were better educated than now 
and the many not so well, in the or- 
dinary sense of the term, there was 
more dignity in the legislative, judi- 
cial, and executive branches of the 
government, more wisdom and jus- 
tice in legislation, and more honesty, 
fidelity, and capacity in the adminis- 
tration. In extending education and 
endeavoring to train all to be leaders, 
we have only extended presumption, 
pretension, conceit, indocility, and 
brought incapacity to the surface. 

These, we grant, are unpopular 
truths, but they, nevertheless, are 
truths, which it is worse than idle to 
deny. Everybody sees it, feels it, 

Unification and Education. 

but few have the courage to avow it 
in face of an intolerant and tyrannical 
public opinion. For ourselves, we 
believe the peasantry in old Catholic 
countries, two centuries ago, were 
better educated, although for the 
most part unable to read or write, 
than are the great body of the Ame- 
rican people to-day. They had faith, 
they had morality, they had a sense 
of religion, they were instructed in 
the great principles and essential 
truths of the Gospel, were trained to 
be wise unto salvation, and they had 
the virtues without which wise, sta- 
ble, and efficient government is im- 
practicable. We hear it said, or rath- 
er read in the journals, that the su- 
periority the Prussian troops have 
shown to the French is due to their 
superior education. We do not be- 
lieve a word of it. We have seen no 
evidence that the French common 
soldiers are not as well educated and 
as intelligent as the Prussian. The 
superiority is due to the fact that the 
Prussian officers were better educat- 
ed in their profession, were less over- 
weening in their confidence of victo- 
ry, and maintained better and severer 
discipline in their armies, than the 
French officers. The Northern ar- 
mies in our recent civil war had no 
advantage in the superior education 
of the rank and file over the South- 
em armies, where both were equally 
well officered and commanded. The 
morale of an army is no doubt the 
great thing, but it does not depend 
on the ability of the common soldier 
to read, write, and cipher ; it depends 
somewhat on his previous habits and 
pursuits chiefly on the officers. Un- 
der the first Napoleon, the Prussians 
were not superior to the French, 
though as well educated. Good of- 
ficers, with an able general at their 
head, can make an efficient army out 
of almost any materials. 

It is not, therefore, for political or 

military reasons that we demand uni- 
versal education, whether by the gene- 
ral government or under the state gov- 
ernments. We demand it, as far as 
practicable, for other and far higher 
reasons. We want it for a spiritual or 
religious end. We want our children 
to be educated as thoroughly as they 
can be, but in relation to the great 
purpose of their existence, so as to be 
fitted to gain the end for which God 
creates them. For the great mass of 
the people, the education needed is 
not secular education, which simply 
sharpens the intellect .and generates 
pride and presumption, but moral 
and religious education, which trains 
up children in the way they should 
go, which teaches them to be honest 
and loyal, modest and unpretending, 
docile and respectful to their supe- 
riors, open and ingenuous, obedient 
and submissive to rightful authority, 
parental or conjugal, civil or eccle- 
siastical ; to know and keep the com- 
mandments of God and the precepts 
of the church ; and to place the sal- 
vation of the soul before all else in 
life. This sort of education can be 
given only by the church or under 
her direction and control; and as 
there is for us Catholics only one 
church, there is and can be no proper 
education for us not given by or under 
the direction and control of the Ca- 
tholic Church. 

But it is precisely education by the 
Catholic Church that Mr. Wilson 
and his party do not want, do not 
believe in, and wish to prevent us 
from having even for our own children. 
It is therefore they demand a sys- 
tem of universal and uniform compul- 
sory education by the authority and 
under the direction of the general 
government, which shall effect and 
maintain the national unification pro- 
posed, by compelling all the children 
of the land to be trained in national 
schools, under Evangelical control 

Unification and Education. 

and management. The end and aim 
of the New Departure, aside from 
certain business interests, is to sup- 
press Catholic education, gradually 
extinguish Catholicity in the country, 
and to form one homogeneous Ame- 
rican people after the New England 
Evangelical type. Of this there can 
be no reasonable doubt. The Evan- 
gelicals and their humanitarian allies, 
as all their organs show, are seriously 
alarmed at the growth of Catholicity 
in the United States. They suppos- 
ed, at -> first, that the church could 
never take root in our Protestant 
soil, that she could not breathe the at- 
mosphere of freedom and enlighten- 
ment, or thrive in a land of newspa- 
pers and free schools. They have 
been disappointed, and now see that 
they reckoned without their host, 
and that, if they really mean to pre- 
vent the American people from gra- 
dually becoming Catholic, they must 
change fundamentally the American 
form of government, suppress the 
freedom of religion hitherto enjoyed 
by Catholics, and take the training 
of all children and youth into their 
own hands. If they leave education 
to the wishes and judgment of pa-, 
rents, Catholic parents will bring up 
their children Catholics ; if they leave 
it to the states separately, Catholics 
in several of them are already a pow- 
erful minority, daily increasing in 
strength and numbers, and will soon 
be strong enough to force the state 
legislatures to give them their propor- 
tion of the public schools supported 
at the public expense. 

All this is clear enough. What, then, 
is to be done ? Mr. Wilson, who is 
not remarkable for his reticence, tells 
us, if not with perfect frankness, 
yet frankly enough for all practical 
purposes. It is to follow out the ten- 
dency which has been so strengthened 
of late, and absorb the states in the 
Union, take away the independence 

of the state governments, and assume 
the control of education for the ge- 
neral government, already rendered 
practically the supreme national gov- 
ernment; then, by appealing to the 
popular sentiment in favor of educa- 
tion, and saying nothing of its quali 
ty, get Congress, which the Evange- 
licals, through the party in power, al- 
ready control, to establish a system 
f compulsory education in national 
schools and the work is done; for 
these schools will necessarily fall into 
Evangelical hands. 

Such is what the distinguished 
Evangelical senator from Massachu- 
setts calls a " New Departure," but 
which is really only carrying out a 
policy long since entered upon, and 
already more than half accomplish- 
ed. While we are writing. Mr. Hoar, 
a representative in Congress from 
Massachusetts, has introduced into the 
House of Representatives a bill es- 
tablishing a system of national edu- 
cation under the authority of the ge- 
neral government. Its fate is not 
yet known, but no doubt will be, be- 
fore we go to press. The probabili- 
ties are that it will pass both Houses, 
and if it does, it will receive the sig- 
nature of the President as a matter 
of course. The Evangelicals under 
which name we include Congrega- 
tionalists, Presbyterians, Dutch Re- 
formed, Baptists, and Methodists, 
etc. all the denominations united in 
the Evangelical Alliance constitute, 
with their political and philanthropic 
allies, the majority in Congress, and 
the measure is advocated apparently 
by the whole Evangelical press and 
by the larger and more influential 
republican journals of the country, 
as any number of excerpts from them 
now before us will satisfy any one who 
has the curiosity to read them. We 
did think of selecting and publishing 
the more striking and authoritative 
among them, but we have concluded 


to hold them in reserve, to be produced 
in case any one should be rash enough 
to question our general statement. 
There is a strong popular feeling in 
many parts of the country in favor 
of the measure, which is a pet measure 
also of the Evangelical ministers ge- 
nerally, who are sure to exert their 
powerful influence in its support, and 
we see no reason to doubt that the 
bill will pass. 

But while we see ample cause for 
all citizens who are loyal to the sys- 
tem of government which Providence 
enabled our fathers to establish, and 
who wish to preserve it and the liber- 
ties it secures, to be vigilant and ac- 
we see none for alarm. The 

Unification and Education. 


will be manifestly 
even counting the 

bill, if it passes 
Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amend- 
ments as valid parts of the consti- 
tution ; and there may be more diffi- 
culty ia carrying it into effect than its 
framers anticipate. It is part and 
parcel of a New England policy, and 
New England is not omnipotent 
throughout the Union, nor very ar- 
dently loved ; not all the members 
of the several evangelical denomina- 
tions will, when they understand it, 
favor the revolution in the govern- 
ment Mr. Wilson would effect. There 
are in those denominations many men 
who belong not to the dominant par- 
ty, and who will follow their political 
rather than their denominational affi- 
nities ; also, there are in them a large 
number, we should hope, of honest 
men, who are not accustomed to act 
on the maxim, " the end justifies the 
means," loyal men and patriotic, who 
consider it no less* disloyalty to seek 
to revolutionize our government 
against the states than against the 
Union, and who will give their votes 
and all their influence to preserve the 
fundamental principles and genius of 
our federative system of government, 
as left us by our fathers, and resist, 

if need be, to the death the disloyal 
policy of unification and education 
proposed by Mr. Wilson. 

The Southern states are recon- 
structed and back now in their place 
in the Union, and will not be much 
longer represented by Northern ad- 
venturers, or men of little ability and 
less character, but very soon by ge- 
nuine Southern men, who, while strict- 
ly loyal to the Union, will speak the 
genuine sentiments of the Southern 
people. The attempt to New-Eng- 
landize the Southern people has not 
succeeded, and will not succeed. 
When to the Southern people, who 
will never acquiesce in the policy of 
unification, we add the large num- 
ber of people in the Northern states 
who from their political convictions 
and affinities, as well as from their 
conservative tendencies, will oppose 
consolidation, we may feel pretty sure 
that the policy Mr. Wilson presents 
as that of the Republican party will 
not be adopted, or if adopted will 
not be permitted to stand. As not 
wholly inexperienced in political mat- 
ters, and looking at the present state 
of parties and temper of the nation, 
we should say that Mr. Wilson, as a 
party man, has committed a blunder, 
and that, if he has fancied that his 
New Departure is fitted to strengthen 
his party as a political party, and to 
give it a new lease of power, he has 
miscalculated. Nothing in our judg- 
ment would be more fatal to the con- 
tinuance of his party in power than 
for it boldly and unequivocally to ac- 
cept Mr. Wilson's programme. There 
is such a thing as reaction in human 
affairs, and reactions are sometimes 
very powerful. 

The educational question ought 
not to present any serious difficulty, 
and would not if our Evangelicals 
and humanitarians did not wish to 
make education a means of prevent- 
ing the growth of the church and 

Unification and Education. 

unmaking the children of Catholics, 
as Catholics or if they seriously and 
in good faith would accept the reli- 
gious equality before the state which 
the constitution and laws, both of 
the Union and the several states, 
as yet recognize and protect. No 
matter what we claim for the Catho- 
lic Church in the theological order 
we claim for her in the civil or- 
der in this country only equality with 
the sects, and for Catholics only 
equal rights with citizens who are 
not Catholics. We demand the free- 
dom of conscience and the liberty of 
our church, which is our conscience, 
enjoyed by Evangelicals. This much 
the country in its constitution and 
laws has promised us, and this much 
it cannot deny us without breaking 
its faith pledged before the world. 

As American citizens, we object to 
the assumption of the control of edu- 
cation, or of any action in regard to 
it, by the general government ; for 
it has no constitutional right to med- 
dle with it, and so far as civil gov- 
ernment has any authority in relation 
to it, it is, under our system of gov- 
ernment, the authority of the states, 
severally, not of the states united. 
We deny, of course, as Catholics, the 
right of the civil government to edu- 
cate, for education is a function of the 
spiritual society, as much so as 
preaching and the administration of 
the sacraments ; but we do not deny 
to the state the right to establish and 
maintain public schools. The state, 
if it chooses, may even endow re- 
ligion, or pay the ministers of reli- 
gion a salary for their support; but 
its endowments of religion, when 
made, are made to God, are sacred, 
and under the sole control and man- 
agement of the spiritual authority, 
and the state has no further func- 
tion in regard to them but to pro- 
tect the spirituality in the free and 
full possession and enjoyment of 

them. If it chooses to pay the min- 
isters of religion a salary, as has 
been done in France and Spain, 
though accepted by the Catholic 
clergy only as a small indemnification 
for the goods of the church seized 
by revolutionary governments and 
appropriated to secular uses, it ac- 
quires thereby no rights over them 
or liberty to supervise their discharge 
of their spiritual functions. We do 
not deny the same or an equal right 
in regard to schools and school-teach- 
ers. It may found and endow schools 
and pay the teachers, but it cannot 
dictate or interfere with the educa- 
tion or discipline of the school. That 
would imply a union of church and 
state, or, rather, the subjection of the 
spiritual order to the secular, which 
the Catholic Church and the Ameri- 
can system of government both alike 

It is said, however, that the state 
needs education for its own protec- 
tion, and to promote the public good 
or the good of the community, both 
of which are legitimate ends of its 
institution. What the state needs in 
relation to its legitimate ends, or the 
ends for which it is instituted, it has 
the right to ordain and control. This 
is the argument by which all public 
education by the state is defended. 
But it involves an assumption which 
is not admissible. The state, having 
no religious or spiritual function, can 
give only secular education, and se- 
cular education is not enough for the 
state's own protection or its promo- 
tion of the public good. Purely se- 
cular education, or education divorc- 
ed from religion, endangers the safety 
of the state and the peace and security 
of the community, instead of pro- 
tecting and insuring them. It is not 
in the power of the state to give the 
education it needs for its own sake, 
or for the sake of secular society. 
The fact is, though statesmen, and 


Unification and Education. 

especially politicians, are slow to 
learn it, and still slower to acknow- 
ledge it, the state, or secular society, 
does not and cannot suffice for it- 
self, and is unable to discharge its 
own proper functions without the co- 
operation and aid of the spiritual so- 
ciety. Purely secular education cre- 
ates no civic virtues, and instead of fit- 
ting unfits the people for the prompt 
and faithful discharge of their civic 
duties, as we may see in Young Ame- 
rica, and indeed in the present active 
and ruling generation of the Ame- 
rican people. Young America is im- 
patient of restraint, regards father and 
mother as old-fogies, narrow-minded, 
behind the age, and disdains filial 
submission or obedience to them, has 
no respect for dignities, acknowledg- 
es no superior, mocks at law if he 
can escape 'the police, is conceited, 
proud, self-sufficient, indocile, heed- 
less of the rights and interests of 
others will be his own master, and 
follow his own instincts, passions, or 
headstrong will. Are these the char- 
acteristics of a people fitted to main- 
tain a wise, well-ordered, stable, and 
beneficent republican government ? 
Or can such a people be developed 
from such youngerlings ? Yet with 
purely secular education, however 
far you carry it, experience proves 
that you can get nothing better. 

The church herself, even if she 
had full control of the education of 
all the children in the land, with am- 
ple funds at her command, could not 
secure anything better, if, as the state, 
she educated for a secular end alone. 
The virtues needed for the protection 
of the state and the advancement 
of the public or common good, are 
and can be secured only by educat- 
ing or training the children and 
youth of a nation not for this life 
as an end, but for the life to 
come. Hence our Lord says, " Seek 
first the kingdom of God and his 

justice, and all these things shall be 
added unto you." The church does 
not educate for the secular order as 
an end, but for God and heaven ; 
and it is precisely in educating for 
God and heaven that she secures 
those very virtues on which the wel- 
fare and security of the secular order 
depend, and without which civil so- 
ciety tends inevitably to dissolution, 
and is sustained, if sustained at all, 
only by armed force, as we have seen 
in more than one European nation 
which has taken education into its 
own hand, and subordinated it to 
secular ends. The education needed 
by secular society can be obtained 
only from the spiritual society, which 
educates not for this world, but for 
the world to come. The virtues need- 
ed to secure this life are obtained 
only by seeking and promoting the 
virtues which fit us for eternal life. 

This follows necessarily from the 
fact that man is created with a spiri- 
tual nature and for an immortal des- 
tiny. If he existed for this life only, 
if he were, as some sciolists pretend, 
merely a monkey or a gorilla devel- 
oped, or were like the beasts that 
perish, this indeed would not and 
could not follow, and the reconcilia- 
tion of the nature and destiny of 
man with uniform human experience 
would be impossible. We should be 
obliged, in order to secure the peace 
and good order of society, as some 
unbelieving statesmen do not blush 
to avow, to educate in view of a 
falsehood, and take care to keep up 
the delusion that man has a religious 
nature and destiny, or look to what 
is false and delusive for the virtues 
which can alone save us from anar- 
chy and utter barbarism. Yet what 
would serve the delusion or the false- 
hood, if man differs not by nature from 
the dog or the pig ? But if man has 
really a spiritual nature and an im- 
mortal destiny, then it must necessa- 

Unification and Education. 


rily follow that his real good can in 
no respect be obtained but in being 
educated and trained to live for a 
spiritual life, for an immortal destiny. 
Should not man be educated accord- 
ing to his spiritual nature and destiny, 
not as a pig or a monkey ? If so, 
in his education should not the secu- 
lar be subordinated to the spiritual, 
and the temporal to the eternal ? 
We know well, experience proves it, 
that even the secular virtues are not 
secured when sought as the end of 
education and of life, but only in 
educating and living for that which 
is not secular, and in securing the 
virtues which have the promise of 
the life of the world to come. 

All education, as. all life, should be 
religious, and all education divorced 
from religion is an evil, not a good, 
and is sure in the long run to be ruin- 
ous to the secular order ; but as a part 
of religious education, and included 
in it, secular education has its 
place, and even its necessity. Man is 
not all soul, nor all body, but the 
union of soul and body ; and there- 
fore his education should include in 
their union, not separation for the 
separation of soul and body is the 
death of the body both spiritual 
education and secular. It is not that 
we oppose secular education when 
given in the religious education, and 
therefore referred to the ultimate 
end of man, but when it is given alone 
and for its own sake. We deny the 
competency of the state to educate 
even for its own order, its right to estab- 
lish purely secular schools, from which 
all religion is excluded, as Mr. Web- 
ster ably contended in his argument 
in the Girard will case; but we do 
not deny, we assert rather, its right to 
establish public schools under the in- 
ternal control and management of 
the spiritual society, and to exact 
that a certain amount of secular in- 
struction be given along with the re- 

ligious education that society gives. 
This last right it has in consideration 
of the secular funds for the support 
of the schools it furnishes, and as 
a condition on which it furnishes 

Let the state say distinctly how 
much secular education in the public 
schools it exacts, or judges to be ne- 
cessary for its own ends, and so far 
as the Catholic Church has anything 
to do with the matter it can have it. 
The church will not refuse to give it 
in the schools under her control. She 
will not hesitate to teach along with 
her religion any amount of reading, 
writing, arithmetic, history, geogra- 
phy, music, and drawing, or the sci- 
ences and the fine arts, the state ex- 
acts and provides for; nor will she 
refuse to allow it to send, if it choos- 
es, its own inspectors into her schools 
to ascertain if she actually gives the 
secular education required. Let it 
say, then, what amount of secular 
education it wants for all the child- 
ren of the land, and is willing to pay 
for, and, so far as Catholics are con- 
cerned, it can have it, and of as 
good quality, to say the least, as it 
can get in purely secular schools, and 
along with it the religious education, 
the most essential to it as well as to 
the souls of all. 

But the difficulty here, it is as- 
sumed, is that the spiritual society 
with us is divided into various deno- 
minations, each with its distinctive 
views of religion. That, no doubt, 
is a damage, but can be easily over- 
come by bearing in mind that the 
several divisions have equal rights, 
and by making the public schools 
denominational, as they are in Prus- 
sia, Austria, France, and to a certain 
extent in England, where denomina- 
tional diversities obtain as well as 
with us. Where the community is 
divided between different religious 
denominations, all standing on a 


Unification and Education. 

footing of perfect equality before 
civil society, this is the only equitable 
system of public schools that is prac- 
ticable. If the state does not adopt 
it, it must i, let the whole business 
of education alone, and make no 
public provision for it; 2, establish 
purely secular, that is, godless schools, 
from which all religion is excluded, 
to which no religious people can be 
expected to consent, and which would 
ruin both public and private virtue, 
and defeat the very purpose of all 
education ; or, 3, it must practically, 
if not theoretically, recognize some 
one of the several denominations as 
the state religion, and remit the edu- 
cation of childhood and youth to 
its management and control, as is 
virtually the case with our present 
public schools, but which would be 
manifestly unjust to all the others 
to non- evangelicals, if evangelicalism is 
made the state religion, or to the 
Evangelicals, if a non-evangelical 
denomination be established as the 
religion of the state. The only way 
to be just to all is, as everybody can 
see, to recognize in practice as well 
as in profession the equal rights of 
all denominations in the civil order 
make the public schools denomina- 
tional, and give to each denomina- 
tion that asks it for the sake of con- 
science its fair and honest proportion, 
to be as to their internal economy, 
education, and discipline under its 
sole control and management. 

Mr. Wilson proposes for our admi- 
ration and imitation the Prussian sys- 
tem of public schools, and though 
we do not know that it is superior to 
the Austrian or even the French sys- 
tem, yet we think highly of it. But, 
what the Evangelical senator does 
not tell us, the Prussian system is 
strictly the denominational system, 
and each denomination is free and 
expected to educate in its own schools 
its own children, under the direction 

of its pastors and teachers, in its own 
religion. The Prussian system re- 
cognizes the fact that different com- 
munions do exist among the Prussian 
people, and does not aim to sup- 
press them or at unification by state 
authority. It meets the fact as it is, 
without seeking to alter it. Give us 
the Prussian system of denomination- 
al schools, and we shall be satisfied, 
even if education is made compulsory. 
We, of course, protest against any law 
compelling us to send our children to 
schools in which our religion cannot 
be freely taught, in which no religion 
is taught, or in which is taught in any 
shape or degree a religion which we 
hold to be false or perilous to souls. 
Such a law would violate the rights 
of parents and the freedom of con- 
science ; but with denominational 
schools compulsory education would 
violate no one's conscience and no 
parental right. Parents ought, if 
able, to have their children educated, 
and if they will not send their chil- 
dren to schools provided for them by 
the public, and in which their religion 
is respected, and made the basis of 
the education given, we can see no 
valid reason why the law should not 
compel them. The state has the 
right, perhaps the duty, in aid of the 
spiritual society and for its own safe^ 
ty and the public good, to compel 
parents to educate their children 
when public schools of their own re- 
ligion, under the charge of their own 
pastors, are provided for them at the 
public expense. Let the public schools 
be denominational, give us our pro- 
portion of them, so that no violence 
will be done to parental rights or to 
the Catholic conscience, and we shall 
be quite willing to have education 
made compulsory, and even if such 
schools are made national, though 
we should object as American citizens 
to them, we should as Catholics ac- 
cept them. We hold state authority 

Unification and Education. 

is the only constitutional authority un- 
der our system to establish schools and 
provide for them at the public ex- 
pense ; but we could manage to get 
along with national denominational 
schools as well as others could. We 
could educate in our share of the 
public schools our own children in our 
own way, and that is all we ask, We 
do not ask to educate the children 
of others, unless with the consent or 
at the request of parents and guar- 

The Prussian system of denomina- 
tional schools could be introduced 
and established in all the states with- 
out the least difficulty, if it were not 
for Evangelicals, their Unitarian off- 
shoots, and their humanitarian allies. 
These are religious and philanthropic 
busybodies, who fancy they are the At- 
las who upholds the world, and that 
they are deputed to take charge of 
everybody's affairs, and put them to 
rights. But they forget that their neigh- 
bors have rights as well as themselves, 
and perhaps intentions as honest and 
enlightened, and as much real wis- 
dom and practical sagacity. The 
only obstacle to the introduction and 
establishment of a just and equitable 
system of public schools comes from 
the intolerant zeal of these Evangeli- 
cals, who seek to make the public 
schools an instrument for securing the 
national, social, and religious unifica- 
tion they are resolved on effecting, and 
for carrying out their purpose of sup- 
pressing the church and extirpat- 
ing Catholicity from American soil. 
They want to use them in training our 
childrea up in the way of Evan- 
gelicalism, and moulding the whole 
American population into one homo- 
geneous people, modelled, as we have 
said, after the New England Evan- 
gelical type. Here is the difficulty, 
and the whole difficulty. The de- 
nominational system would defeat 
their darling hope, their pet project, 

and require them to live and let live. 
They talk much about freedom of 
conscience and religious liberty and 
equal rights; but the only equal 
rights they understand are all on their 
side, and they cherish such a tender 
regard for religious liberty, have so 
profound a respect for it, that they 
insist, like our Puritan forefathers, on 
keeping it all to themselves, and not 
to surfer it to be profaned or abused 
by being extended to others. 

Prussia, though a Protestant coun- 
try, does not dream of making the 
public schools a machine either for 
proselytism or unification. She is 
contented to recognize Catholics as 
an integral part of her population, 
and to leave them to profess and 
practise their own religion according 
to the law of their church. Our 
Evangelicals would do well to imi- 
tate her example. We Catholics are 
here, and here we intend to remain. 
We have as much right to be here as 
Evangelicals have. We are too many 
to be massacred or exiled, and too 
important and influential a portion 
of the American people to be of 
no account in the settlement of 
public affairs. We have votes, and 
they will count on whichever side 
we cast them ; and we cannot reason- 
ably be expected to cast them on the 
side of any party that is seeking to 
use its power as a political party to 
suppress our church and our religion, 
or even to destroy our federative 
system of government, and to leave 
all minorities at the mercy of^the ir- 
responsible majority for the time, 
with no other limit to its power than it 
sees proper to impose on itself; for 
we love liberty, and our church teach- 
es us to be loyal to the constitution 
of our country. 

The wisest course, since there are 
different religious denominations in 
the country, is to accept the situation, 
to recognize the fact, acquiesce in it, 

The Cross. 

and make the best of it. Any attempt 
to unmake, by the direct or indirect 
authority of the state, Catholics of 
their faith or any denomination of its 
belief, is sure to fail. Each denomi- 
nation is free to use Scripture and 
reason, logic and tradition, all mo- 
ral and intellectual weapons, against 
its rivals, and with that it should be 
contented. Whatever may be the 
rightful claims of the church in the 
theological order, she is contented 
with the civil protection of her 
equal rights in the political order. 
She asks with the wealth, the fashion, 
the public opinion, the press, nine- 
tenths of the population of the 
country, and the seductions of the 
world against her only " an open 

field and fair play." If she does not 
complain, her enemies ought to be 
satisfied with the advantages they 

We have entered our protest 
against a party programme which 
threatens alike the genius of the 
American government and the free- 
dom of religion, for so much was ob- 
viously our duty, both as Catholics and 
citizens. We are aware of the odds 
against us, but we have confidence 
in our countrymen that, though they 
may be momentarily deceived or 
misled, they will, when the real char- 
acter of the programme we have ex- 
posed is once laid open to them, re- 
ject it with scorn and indignation, 
and hasten to do us justice. 


IN weary hours to lonely heights 
When thou hast travelled sore, 

A sorrowing man hath borne his cross 
And gone thy way before. 

Thine eyes cannot escape the sign 

On every hand that is 
Of him who bore the general woe, 

Nor knew a common bliss. 

But men, remembering his face, 
Dreamed of him while they slept, 

And the mother by the cradle side 
Thought of his eye, and wept. 

Now haunts the world his ghost whose fate 

Made all men's fates his own ; 
So for the wrongs of modest hearts 

A myriad hearts atone. 

Oh ! deeply shall thy spirit toil 

To reach the height he trod, 
And humbly strive thy soul to know 

Its servant was its God. 

Only earth's martyr is her lord ; 

Such is the gain of loss : 
And, looking in all hearts, I see 

The signal of the cross. 

The House of Yorke. 




UNDER a thickly-branched tree in 
the northern part of one of the south- 
ern counties of Maine is a certain 
gray rock, matted over with dim 
green lichens that are spotted with 
dead gold. From under this rock 
springs a sparkling little stream. It 
is no storied fountain, rich with le- 
gends of splendor, poetry, and crime, 
but a dear, bright little Yankee brook, 
with the world all before it. That 
world it immediately proceeds to in- 
vestigate. It creeps through thready 
grasses and russet pine-needles ; it 
turns aside, with great respect, for a 
stone no larger than a rabbit; and 
when a glistening pitchy cone drops 
into it, the infant river labors under 
tohe burden. When the thirsty fawn 
conies there to drink, nearly the 
whole rivulet flows down its throat, 
and the cone is stranded high and 
dry; what there is left flows south- 
ward. A sunbeam pierces the scent- 
ed gloom, creeps down a tree-trunk, 
steals over a knoll of green-and- 
brown tree-moss, which then looks 
like a tiny forest on fire, over yellow 
violets, which dissolve in its light, 
over a bank of rich dark mould vein- 
ed with the golden powder of decay- 
ed pine-trees, moist and soft, and 
full of glistening white roots, where 
the flowers push down their pearly 
feet. Over the bank, into the wa- 
ter, goes the sunbeam, and the two 
frolic together, and the stream dives 
under the gnarled roots, so that its play- 
mate would believe it lost but for 
that gurgle of laughter down in the 
cool, fresh dark. Then it leaps up, 

and spreads itself out in a mirror, 
and the elder-tree, leaning over to 
look at the reflection of its fan-like 
leaves and clusters of white flowers, 
gets very erroneous ideas concerning 
its own personal appearance ; for the 
palpitating rings that chase each 
other over the surface of the water 
make the brown stems crinkle, the 
leaves come to pieces and unite 
again, and the many flowers in each 
round cluster melt all together, then 
twinkle out individually, only to melt 
again into that bloomy full moon. 
Over this shimmer of flowers and 
water big bees fly, buzzing terribly, 
dragon-flies dart, or hang, purple- 
mailed, glittering creatures, with gau- 
zy wings, and comical insects dance 
there, throwing spots of sunshine in- 
stead of shadow down to the leafy 
bed. Then the brook flows awhile 
in a green tranquil shadow, till, reach- 
ing the interlaced roots of two im- 
mense trees that hold a bank between 
them, it makes a sudden, foamy 
plunge the height of a stag's front. 
She is a bride then, you may say 
she is Undine, looking through that 
white veil, and thinking new thoughts. 

Now the bear comes down to 
drink and look at his ugly face in 
the deepening wave, foxes switch 
their long tails about the banks, deer 
come, as light-footed as shadows, 
drink, and fling up their short tails, 
with a flit of white, and trot away 
with a little sniff, and their heads 
thrown back, hearing the howl or 
the long stride of the wolf in pursuit. 
Rabbits come there, and squirrels leap 
and nibble in the branches above. 
Besides, there are shoals of pretty, 
slim fishes. 

So through the mellow gloom and 


The Plouse of Yorke. 

sunny sparkle of the old forest, the 
clear brook wanders, growing wiser, 
and talking to itself about many 

Presently the wild creatures with- 
draw, sunburnt children wade across 
from bank to bank, grassy clearings 
abound, there are farm-houses, and 
cows with tinkling bells; and then 
comes a bridge, and boats dance upon 
the water, and the stream is a river ! 
Alas for the Indian name it brought 
up out of the earth with it, and lisp- 
ed and gurgled and laughed to itself 
all the way down the name spiked 
with /&'s and choky-looking g/i's, 
rough to the eye, but sweet in the 
mouth, like a hazel-nut in the burr. 
The white settlers have changed all 

Now, indeed, the young river puts 
on state, and lets people see that it 
is not to be waded through ; and 
when they build a dam across, it 
flows grandly over, in a smooth, 
wine-colored curve. Times are chang- 
ed, indeed, since the little gray birds 
with speckled breasts looked with ad- 
miration at its first cascade, since the 
bear, setting down his great paw, 
clumsily splashed the whole stream 
up over his shaggy leg. There are 
farms to keep up appearances before, 
mill-wheels to turn, and ships to bear 
up. Pine-cones, indeed! Besides, 
a new and strange experience has 
come to it, and its bosom pulses daily 
with the swelling of the tides. And 
here one village street, with white 
houses, follows its course a mile or 
so, and another street with white 
houses comes down to its bank from 
the west, crosses over, and goes up 
eastward. This town, with its two 
principal streets forming a cross near 
the mouth of the river, a white cross 
at the end of a silver chain shall 
we call it Seaton? It is a good 
enough name. And the river shall 
be Seaton River, and the bay into 

which it flows shall be Seaton Bay. 
But the ocean that makes the bay, 
and drinks the river, shall be Atlantic 

We have spoken ! 
We follow the road that follows 
the stream on its eastern bank, cross 
West Street, get into a poor, dwin- 
dling neighborhood, leave the houses 
nearly all behind, go over two small, 
ill-conditioned hills, and find at our 
right a ship-yard with wharves, at 
our left a dingy little cottage, shaped 
like a travelling-trunk, and not much 
larger than some. It stands with its 
side toward the dusty road, a large, 
low chimney rises from the roof, there 
is a door with a window at each side 
of it. One can see at a glance from 
the outside how this house is divided. 
It has but two rooms below, with a 
tiny square entry between, and a low 
attic above. Each room has three 
windows, one on each of the three 
outer walls. 

The kitchen looked toward the vil- 
lage through its north window. Op- 
posite that was a large fireplace with 
an ill-tempered, crackling fire of 
spruce-wood, throwing out sparks 
and splinters. It was April weather, 
and not very warm yet. In the 
chimney-corner sat Mr. Rowan, sul- 
kily smoking his pipe, his eyes fixed 
on the chimney-back. He was a 
large, slouching man, with an intelli- 
gent face brutalized by intemperance. 
Drunkard was written all over him, 
in the scorched black hair, not yet 
turning gray, in the dry lips, bloated 
features, and inflamed eyes. He sat 
in his shirt-sleeves, waiting impatient- 
ly while his wife put a patch in his 
one coat. Mrs. Rowan, a poor, fad- 
ed, little frightened woman, whom her 
female acquaintances called " slack," 
sat near the south window, wrinkling 
her brows anxiously over the said 
patch, which was smaller than the 
hole it was destined to fill. The af- 

The House of Yorke. 

ternoon sunshine spread a golden 
carpet close to her feet. In the light 
of it one could see the splinters in 
the much-scoured floor, and a few 
fraggles in the hem of Mrs. Rowan's 
calico gown. 

At the eastern window sat Edith 
Yorke, eleven years of age, with a 
larcre book on her knees. Over this 


book, some illustrated work on natu- 
ral history, she had been bending for 
an hour, her loose mop of tawny 
hair falling each side of the page. 
So cloistered, her profile was invisi- 
ble; but, standing in front of her, 
one could see an oval face with regu- 
lar features full of calm earnestness. 
Bright, arched lips, and a spirited 
curve in the nostrils, saved this face 
from the cold look which regular 
features often give. The large, droop- 
ing eyelids promised large eyes, the 
forehead was wide and not high, the 
brows long, slightly arched, and pale- 
brown in color, and the whole face, 
neck, hands, and wrists were tanned 
to a light quadroon tint. But where 
the coarse sleeve'had slipped up was 
visible an arm of dazzling whiteness. 
Outside the window, and but two 
rods distant, hung a crumbling clay 
bank, higher than the house, with a 
group of frightened alder-bushes look- 
ing over the top, and holding on 
with all their roots. Some day, in 
spite of their grip the sooner, per- 
haps, because of its stress the last 
frail hold was to be loosed, and the 
bushes were to come sliding down 
the bank, faster and faster, to pitch 
headlong into the mire at the bottom, 
with a weak crackling of all their 
poor doomed branches. 

Presently the child looked up, with 
lights coming and going in her agate- 
colored eyes. " How wonderful frogs 
are!" she exclaimed involuntarily. 

There was no reply. 

She glanced at her two compan- 
ions, scarcely conscious of them, her 


mind full of something else. " But 
everything is wonderful, when you 
come to think of it," she pursued 

Mr. Rowan took the pipe from 
his mouth, turned his forbidding face, 
and glowered at the girl. " You're 
a wonderful fool !" he growled ; then 
resumed his pipe, feeling better, ap- 
parently, for that expression of opin- 
ion. His wife glanced up, furtive 
and frightened, but said nothing. 

Edith looked at the man unmoved, 
saw him an instant, then, still look- 
ing, saw him not. After a while she 
became aware, roused herself, and 
bent again over the book. Then 
there was silence, broken only by 
the snapping of the fire, the snip of 
Mrs. Rowan's scissors, and the -lame, 
one-sided ticking of an old-fashioned 
clock on the mantelpiece. 

After a while, as the child read, a 
new thought struck up. " That's 
just like ! Don't you think " ad- 
dressing the company " Major 
Cleaveland said yesterday that I had 
Hghtning-bugs in my eyes !" 

Without removing his pipe, Mr. 
Rowan darted an angry look at his 
wife, whose face became still more 
frightened. " Dear me !" she said 
feebly, "that child is an idjut!" 

This time the long, fading gaze 
dwelt on the woman before it went 
back to the book again. But the 
child was too closely ensphered in 
her own life to be much, if at all, 
hurt. Besides, she was none of 
theirs, nor of their kind. Her soul 
was no dying spark struggling through 
ashes, but a fire, " alive, and alive 
like to be," as children say when 
they wave the fire-brand, winding 
live ribbons in the air; and no drop 
of their blood flowed in her veins. 

The clock limped over ten minutes 
more, and the patch was got into its 
place, after a fashion, botched some- 
what, with the knots on the outside. 


The House of Yorke. 

Mr. Rowan took the coat, grumbled 
at it, put it on, and went out, glanc- 
ing back at the child as he opened 
the door. She was looking after him 
with an expression which he inter- 
preted to mean aversion and con- 
tempt. Perhaps he mistook. May 
be she was wondering at him, what 
sort of strange being he was. Edith 
Yorke was very curious regarding 
the world she had got into. It seem- 
ed to her a queer place, and that 
she had at present not much concern 
in it. 

Her husband out of the way, Mrs. 
Rowan took her knitting-work, and 
stood a moment at the north win- 
dow, gazing up toward the town, 
with a far-away look of blunted ex- 
pectancy, as if she had got in the 
habit of looking for help which never 
came. Then she drew a long sigh, 
that also a habit, and, resuming her 
chair, began to knit and to rock her- 
self, letting her mind, what there was 
left of it, swing to and fro, unmean- 
ingly and miserably, to the sound of 
the clock as it ticked. " O dear ! 
O dear!" that was what the tick- 
ing always said to this poor soul. As 
she sat, the afternoon sun, sinking 
lower, crept about her feet, climbed 
to her lap, got hol^l of her knitting, 
and ran in little bright flashes along 
the needles, and snapped off in 
sparks at the ends, so that she seem- 
ed to be knitting sunshine. 

This woman was what remained 
at forty of a pretty, flaxen-haired girl 
of eighteen, who had captivated hand- 
some Dick Rowan, for he had been 
handsome. A faded rag of a wo- 
man she was, without hope or spirit, 
all the color and life washed out of 
her in a bitter rain of tears. The 
pink cheeks had faded, and only the 
ghost remained of that dimple that 
had once seemed to give meaning 
to her smiles. The curly hair was 
dry and thin, and had an air of chro- 

nic untidiness. The blue-gray eyes 
were dim and heavy, the teeth were 
nearly all gone. The pretty, chirp- 
ing ways that had been captivating 
when youth covered their silliness 
oh ! where had they gone ? She was 
a weak, broken-hearted, shiftless little 
woman, and her husband hated her. 
He felt wronged and cheated by her. 
He was more disappointed than Ix- 
ion, for in this cloud there had never 
even been a goddess. If she had 
sometimes turned upon him, when he 
acted like a brute, and scorned him 
for it, he would have liked her bet- 
ter; but she shrank, and cowered, 
and trembled, made him feel himself 
ten times the brute she dared not 
call him, yet gave him nothing to 
resent. " Gentle, is she ?" he cried 
out once in a rage. " She is not ! She 
is weak and slavish. A person cannot 
be gentle who cannot be something 

So the poor woman suffered, and 
got neither pity nor credit from the 
one who caused her suffering. It 
was hard ; and yet, she was nobler in 
her misery than she would have been 
in happiness. For sorrow gave her 
now and then a touch of dignity ; 
and when, stung with a sudden per- 
ception of her own nothingness, she 
flung her desperate hands upward, 
and called upon God to deliver her, 
a certain tragical power and beauty 
seemed to wrap her round. Mrs. 
Rowan happy would have been a 
trivial woman, meaning no great 
harm, because meaning no great any- 
thing ; but the fiery furnace of pain 
had scorched her up, and what re- 
mained was pure. 

When the two were alone, Edith 
dropped her book, and looked across 
the room at her companion. Mrs. 
Rowan, busy with her own sad 
thoughts, took no notice of her, and 
presently the child glanced past her, 
and out the window. The view was 

The House of Yorkc. 

not bad. First came the dusty road, 
then the ship-yard, then the river 
sparkling, but rather the worse for 
sawdust and lath-edgings that came 
down from the lumber-mills above 
the village. But here all that was 
sordid came to an end. The mean- 
ness and misery on the hitherward 
bank were like witches, who cannot 
cross running water. From the op- 
posite bank rose a long, grassy hill, 
unmarred by road or fence. In sum- 
mer-time you could see from far away 
the pinkness of the wild-roses that 
had seen fit to bind with a blooming 
cestus the dented waist of this hill. 
Behind them was a green spray of lo- 
cust and laburnum trees, then dense 
round tops of maples, and elms in 
graceful groups, half-hiding the roofs 
and gables of Major Cleaveland's 
house the great house of the village, 
as its owner was the great man. Be- 
hind that was a narrow rim of pines 
and spruces, making the profile of an 
enchanted city against the horizon, 
and above that a vast hollow of un- 
obstructed sky. In that space the 
sunsets used to build their jasper 
walls, and calm airs stretch long lines 
of vapor across, till the whole west was 
a stringed instrument whereon a full 
symphony of colors played good- 
night to the sun. There the west 
wind blew up bubbles of wry cloud, 
and the new moon put forth her 
gleaming sickle to gather in the sheaf 
of days, a never -failing harvest, 
through storm and sunshine, hoar- 
frost and dew. There the pearly piles 
of cumuli used to slumber on summer 
afternoons, lightnings growing in their 
bosoms to flash forth at evening ; and 
there, when a long storm ended with 
the day, rose the solid arch of ceru- 
lean blue. When it had reached a 
certain height, Edith Yorke would 
run into the south room, and look 
out to see the rainbow suspend its 
miraculous arch over the retreating 

storm. This little girl, to whom 
everything was so wonderful when 
she came to think of it, was a dear 
lover of beauty. 

" O dear ! O dear !" ticked the 
clock ; and the barred sunshine turn- 
ed slowly on the floor, as if the ugly 
little house were the hub of a huge, 
leisurely wheel of gold. 

Edith dropped her book, and went 
to Mrs. Rowan's side, taking a stool 
with her, and sitting down in the 
midst of the sunshine. 

" I'm afraid I shall forget my sto- 
ry, Mrs. Jane, unless I say it over 
again," she said. " And, you know, 
mamma told me never to forget." 

Mrs. Rowan roused herself, glad 
of anything which could take her 
mind from her own troubles. " Well, 
tell it all over to me now," she said. 
" I haven't heard it this long time." 

" Will you be sure to correct rne if 
I am wrong ?" the child asked anx- 

" Yes, I will. But don't begin till 
I have taken up the heel of this stock- 

The stitches were counted and 
evened, half of them taken off on to a 
thread, and the other half, with the 
seam-stitch in the middle, knit back- 
ward once. Then Edith began to 
repeat the story confided to her by 
her dead mother. 

" My grandpapa and grandmamma 
were Polish exiles. They had to 
leave Poland when Aunt Marie was 
only a year old, and before mamma 
was born. They couldn't take their 
property with them, but only jewels, 
and plate, and pictures. They went 
to Brussels, and there my mamma was 
born, and the queen was her god- 
mother, and sent the christening- robe. 
Mamma kept the robe till she grew 
up ; but when she was in America, and 
was poor, and wanted to go to a par- 
ty, she cut it up to make the waist 
and sleeves of a dress. Poverty is 


The House of Yorke. 

no disgrace, mamma said, but it is a 
great inconvenience. By - and - by, 
they left Brussels, and went to Eng- 
land. Grandpapa wanted some way 
to get money to live on, for they had 
sold nearly all their pictures and 
things. They stayed in England not 
very long. Countess Poniatowski call- 
ed on grandmamma, and she had on a 
black velvet bonnet with red roses in 
it ; so I suppose it was winter. Then 
one day grandpapa took mamma out 
to walk in a park ; so I suppose that 
was summer. There were some gen- 
tlemen in the park that they talked 
to, and one of them, a gentleman with 
a hook nose, who was sitting down 
on a bench, took mamma on his knees, 
and started to kiss her. But mamma 
slapped his face. She said he had no 
right to kiss people who didn't want 
him to, not even if he were a king. 
His name was the Duke of Welling- 
ton. Then they all came to Ame- 
rica, and people here were very polite 
to them, because they were Polish 
exiles, and 'of noble birth. But they 
couldn't eat nor drink nor wear 
politeness, mamma said, and so 
they grew poorer and poorer every 
day, and didn't know what they 
would do. Once they travelled with 
Henry Clay two weeks, and had 
quite a nice time, and they went to 
Ashland and stayed all night. When 
they went away the next day, Mr. 
Clay gave mamma and Aunt Marie the 
little mugs they had had to drink out of. 
But they didn't care much about 'em, 
and they broke 'em pretty soon. Mam- 
ma said she didn't know then that Mr. 
Clay was a great man. She thought 
that just a mister couldn't be great. 
She had always seen lords and counts, 
and grandpapa was a colonel in the 
army Colonel Luborniorski his name 
was. But she said that in this coun- 
try a man might be great, even if he 
wasn't anything but a mister, and 
that my papa was as great as a 

prince. Well, then they came to 
Boston, and Aunt Marie died, and 
they buried her, and mamma was al- 
most nine years old. People used to 
pet and notice her, and everybody 
talked about her hair. It was thick 
and black, and it curled down to her 
waist. One day Doctor Somebody, 
I can never recollect his name, took 
her out walking on the Common, 
and they went into Mr. John Quincy 
Adams's house. And Mr. Adams 
took one of mamma's curls, and held 
it out, and said it was long enough 
and large enough to hang the Czar 
with. And she said that they might 
have it all if they'd hang him with 
it. And then poor grandpapa had 
to go to Washington, and teach danc- 
ing and fencing, because that was all 
he could do. And pretty soon grand- 
mamma broke her heart and died. 
And then after a little while grand- 
papa died. And, after that, mamma 
had to go out sewing to support 
herself, and she went to Boston, and 
sewed in Mr. Yorke's family. And 
Mr. Yorke's youngest brother fell in 
love with her, and she fell in love 
with him, and they married each 
other in spite of everybody. So the 
family were awfully angry. My papa 
had been engaged ever since he was 
a little boy to Miss Alice Mills, and 
they had put off getting married be- 
cause she was rich, and he hadn't 
anything, and was looking round to 
see how he should get a fortune. 
And the Millses all turned against him, 
and the Yorkes all turned against 
him, and he and mamma went off, and 
wandered about, and came down to 
Maine ; and papa died. Then mam- 
ma had to sew again to support her- 
self, and we were awfully poor. I 
remember that we lived in the same 
house with you ; but it was a better 
house than this, and wa^ up in 
the village. Then mamma's heart 
broke, and she died too. But I don't 

The House of Yorke. 


mean to break my heart, Mrs. Jane. 
It's a poor thing to do." 

" Yes !" sighed the listener ; " it's 
a poor thing to do." 

" Well," resumed the child, " then 
you kept me. It was four years ago 
when my mamma died, but I remem- 
ber it all. She made me promise 
not to forget who my mother was, 
and promise, with both my hands 
held up, that I would be a Catholic, 
if I had to die for it. So I held up 
both my hands, and promised, and 
she looked at me, and then shut her 
eyes. It that all right ?" 

" Yes, dear !" Mrs. Rowan had 
dropped her knitting as the story 
went on, and was gazing dreamily 
out the window, recalling to mind 
her brief acquaintance with the fair 
young exile. 

" Dick and I grew to be great 
friends," Edith continued rather tim- 
idly. " He used to take care of me, 
and fight for me. Poor Dick ! He 
was mad nearly all the time, because 
his father drank rum, and because 
people twitted him, and looked down 
upon him." 

Mrs. Rowan took up her work 
again, and knit tears in with the 

" And Dick gave his father an aw- 
ful talking-to, one day," Edith went 
on, still more timidly. " That was 
two years ago. He stood up and 
poured out words. His eyes were 
so flashing that they dazzled, and his 
cheeks were red, and he clinched his 
hands. He looked most splendid. 
When I go back to Poland, he shall 
be a general in the army. He will 
look just as he did then, if the Czar 
should come near us. Well, after 
that day he went off to sea, and he 
has not been back since." 

Tears were running down the mo- 
ther's cheeks as she thought of her 
son, the only child left her of three. 

Edith leaned and clasped both 

her hands around Mrs. Rowan's arm, 
and laid her cheek to them. " But 
he is coming back rich, he said he 
would; and what Dick said he'd do 
he always did. He is going to take 
us away from here, and get a pretty 
house, and come and live with us." 

A hysterical, half-laughing sob 
broke through the listener's quiet 
weeping. " He always did keep his 
word, Edith !" she cried. " Dick was 
a gallant lad. And I trust that the 
Lord will bring him back to me." 

" Oh ! he'll come back," said Edith 
confidently, and with a slight air of 
haughtiness. " He'll come back him- 

All the Christianity the child had 
seen had been such as to make the 
name of the Lord excite in her heart a 
feeling of antagonism. It is hard to be- 
lieve that God means love when man 
means hate ; and this child and her 
protectors had seen but little of the 
sunny side of humanity. Christians 
held aloof from the drunkard and 
his family, or approached them only 
to exhort or denounce. That they 
had any kinship with that miserable 
man, that in his circumstances they 
might have been what he was, never 
seemed to occur to them as possible. 
Dick fought with the boys who mock- 
ed his father, therefore he was a bad 
boy. Mrs. Rowan flamed up, and 
defended her husband, when the Rev. 
Dr. Martin denounced him, therefore 
she was almost as bad as he. So 
shallow are most judgments, arraign- 
ing effects without weighing causes. 

Nor did Edith fare better at their 
hands. She was to them a sort of 
vagabond. Who believed the story 
of her mother's romantic misfortunes ? 
She was some foreign adventuress, 
most likely. Mr. Charles Yorke, whom 
they respected, had married a native 
of Seaton, and had two or three 
times honored that town with a short 
visit. They knew that he had cast 


The House o/ Yorke. 

off his own brother for marrying this 
child's mother. Therefore she had 
no claim on their respect. 

Moreover, some of the ladies for 
whom young Mrs. Yorke had done 
sewing had not the pleasantest of re- 
collections connected with her. A 
poor person has no right to be proud 
and high-spirited, and the widowed 
exile was a very fiery woman. She 
would not sit at table with their ser- 
vants, she would not be delighted 
when they patronized her, and she 
would not be grateful for the scanty 
wages they gave her. She had even 
dared to break out upon Mrs. Cleave- 
land when that lady had sweetly re- 
quested her to enter her house by 
the side door, when she came to sew. 
" In Poland a person like you would 
scarcely have been allowed to tie 
my mother's shoes !" she cried. The 
lady answered suavely, " But we are 
not in Poland, madam ;" but she 
never forgave the insolence still 
less because her husband laughed at 
it, and rather liked Mrs. Yorke's 

These were the ladies whom Edith 
had heard talk of religion ; so she 
lifted her head, dropped her eyelids, 
and said defiantly, " Dick will come 
home himself!" 

" Not unless the Lord lets him 
come," said the mother. " Oh ! no 
good will come to us except by him. 
' Unless the Lord build the house, they 
labor in vain that build it : unless the 
Lord keep the city, he ivatcheth in vain 
that keepeth it: " 

" I don't think you have much to 
thank him for," remarked the child 

" I will thank him !" the woman 
cried out in a passion. " I will trust 
him ! He is all the hope I have !" 

" Well, well, you may !" Edith said 
soothingly. " Don't let's talk about 
it any more. Give me the scissors, 
and I'll cut the fraggles off the hem 

of your gown. Suppose Dick should 
come home all of a sudden, and find 
us looking so ! I hope he will let 
us know, don't you ? so that we can 
put our best clothes on." 

The best clothes in question were a 
black bombazine gown and shawl, 
and an old-fashioned crape bonnet 
and veil, all sewed up and hidden 
away under Edith's bed in the little 
dark attic, lest Mr. Rowan, in one 
of his drunken frenzies, should de- 
stroy them. These articles were the 
mourning which Mrs. Rowan had 
vorn seven years before, when her 
last daughter died. With them was 
another bag, belonging to Edith, 
equally precious to its owner, but 
from other reasons. There was a 
scarlet merino cape, lined with silk 
of the same color, both a little faded, 
and a faded crape scarf that had 
once been gorgeous with red and 
gold. In the innermost fold of this 
scarf, wrapped in tissue-paper, and 
tucked inside an old kid glove of re- 
markable smallness, were two locks 
of hair one a short, thick wave of 
yellow-brown, the other a long, ser- 
pentine tress of ebony blackness. 

While they talked, the door of the 
room opened, and Mr. Rowan look- 
ed in. " Aren't we going to have any 
supper to-night ?" he demanded. 

Edith fixed a look on him that 
made him shrink out, and bang the 
door behind him. His wife started 
up, glanced at the clock, and went 
about her work. 

" Let me help you, Mrs. Jane," 
the child said. 

" No, dear. There isn't much to 
do, and I'd rather do it." Mrs. 
Rowan's voice had a sepulchral sound, 
her head being deep in the fireplace, 
where she was putting one hook into 
another on the crane, to let the tea- 
kettle down. She emerged with a 
smooch of soot on her hair and fore- 
head, and began flying round bring- 

The House of Yorke. 

ing a table into the middle of the 
floor, putting up the leaves, spreading 
the cloth, taking down the dishes, 
all with trembling haste. " If you 
want to knit a few times across the 
heel of that stocking, you may. But 
be careful not to knit too tightly, as 
you almost always do. You can be- 
gin to narrow when it's two of your 
forefingers long." 

Edith took the knitting, and went 
to her favorite chair in the back win- 
dow. The room had grown smoky 
in consequence of Mrs. Rowan's pil- 
ing of soft wood on to the fire, and 
hurrying about past the fireplace, so 
she pushed up the window, and fas- 
tened it with a wooden button fixed 
there for the purpose. Then she be- 
gan to knit and think, and, forgetting 
Mrs. Rowan's directions, pulled the 
yarn so tightly over her fingers that 
she worked a hard, stiff strip across 
the heel, into which the looser knit- 
ting puckered. The child was too 
much absorbed to be aware of her 
mistake, and it did not matter; for 
that stocking was never to be fin- 

While she dreamed there, a deeper 
shadow than that of the clay bank 
fell over her. She looked up with a 
start, and saw Mr. Rowan standing 
outside the window. He had placed 
himself so as to avoid being seen by 
any one in the room, aiid was just 
turning his eyes away from her when 
she caught sight of him. 

" Lean out here !" he said. " I want 
to speak to you." 

She leaned out and waited. 

" What makes you stare at me the 
way you sometimes do ?" he asked 
angrily, but in a low voice, that his 
wife might not hear. " Why don't 
you say right out what you think ?" 

" I don't know what I do think," 
replied Edith, dropping her eyes. 

" You think that I am a wretch !" 
he exclaimed. " You think I am a 

drunkard ! You think I abuse my 

She neither answered nor looked up. 

He paused a moment, then went 
on fiercely. " If there is anything I 
hate, it is to have people look at me 
that way, and say nothing. If you 
scold a man, it looks as if you thought 
there was something in him that 
could tell black from white ; and if 
you are impudent, you put yourself 
a little in the wrong, and that helps 
him. He isn't so much ashamed of 
himself. But when you just look, 
and say nothing, you shut him out. 
It is as much as to tell him that 
words would be thrown away on 

" But," Edith objected, much at a 
loss, " if I answered you back, or 
said what I thought, there would be 
a quarrel right off." 

" Did I fight when Dick gave me 
such a hauling-over before he went 
away ?" the man questioned in a 
rough tone that did not hide how 
his voice broke, and. his blood-shot 
eyes filled up with tears. " Didn't I 
hang my head, and take it like a 
dog? He said I had acted like a 
brute, but he didn't say I was one. 
and he didn't say but I could be a 
man yet, if I should try. Wasn't I 
sober for three months after he went 
away ? Yes ; and I would have kept 
sober right on if I had had some one 
to thorn and threaten me. But she 
gave up, and did nothing but whim- 
per, and it maddened me. When I 
ordered her to mix my rum for me, 
she did it. I should have liked her 
better if she had thrown it, tumbler 
and all, into my face." 

" You'd better not find fault with 
her," said Edith. " She's a great 
deal better than you are." 

The child had a gentle, sincere 
way of saying audacious things some- 
times that made one wonder if she 
knew how audacious they were. 

The House of Yorke. 

The man stared at her a moment ; 
then, looking away, answered with- 
out any appearance of anger, " I sup- 
pose she is ; but I don't think much 
of that kind of goodness when there's 
a hard job to be done. You can't 
lift rocks with straws. I'm sorry for 
her; but, for all that, she aggravates 
me, poor thing !" 

He leaned back against the house, 
with his hands in his pockets, and 
stared at the clay bank before him. 
Edith looked at him, but said noth- 
ing. Presently he turned so suddenly 
that she started. "Girl," he said, 
" never do you ridicule a man who has 
been drinking, no matter what he 
does! You may hate him, or be 
afraid of him, but never laugh at 
him ! You might as well look down 
into hell and laugh ! Do you know 
what it is to be in the power of rum ? 
It is to have. serpents twining round 
you, and binding you hand and foot. 
I've gone through the streets up there 
with devils on my back, pushing me 
down; wild beasts tearing my vitals; 
reptiles crawling round n\e; the earth 
rising up and quaking under my feet, 
and a horror in my soul that no words 
can describe, and the men and women 
and children have laughed at me. 
Perhaps they were such shallow fools 
that they didn't know ; but I tell you, 
and you know now. Don't you ever 
dare to laugh at a drunkard !" 

" I never will !" Edith cried out, 
in an agony of terror and pity. " O 
you poor man ! I didn't know it was 
so awful. O you poor man !" 

Mr. Rowan had stopped, gasping 
for breath, and, with his patched 
sleeve, wiped off the perspiration that 
was streaming down his face. Edith 
tore off her little calico apron with 
such haste as to break the strings. 
" Here, take this !" she said, reaching 
it out to him. 

He took it with a shaking hand, 
and wiped his face again ; wiped his 

eyes again and again, breathing 

" Couldn't you be saved ?" she 
asked, in a whisper. " Isn't there 
any way for you to get out of it ?" 

" No !" he said, and gave her back 
her apron. " No ; and I wish that 1 
were dead I" 

"Don't say that!" the child en- 
treated. "It is wicked; and per- 
haps you will die if you say it." 

The drunkard raised his trembling 
hands, and looked upward. " I wish 
to God that I were dead !" he re- 

Edith shrank back into the room. 
Sfre was too much terrified to listen 
to any more. But after a moment he 
called her name, and she leaned out 
again. His face was calmer, and his 
voice more quiet. " Don't tell her 
what I have been talking about," he 
said, nodding toward the room. " I 
would sooner tear my tongue out by 
the roots than say anything to her." 

" I won't tell," Edith promised. 

" Supper 's ready," Mrs. Rowan 
announced, coming towards the win- 
dow. She had heard her husband's 
voice in conversation with Edith, and 
wondered greatly what was going 

Mr. Rowan turned away, with a 
look of irritation, at sound of her 
timid voice, walked round the house, 
and came sulkily in to his supper. 

Their meals had always been com- 
fortless and silent; but now Edith 
tried to talk, at first with Mrs. Row- 
an; but when she saw that the 
woman's tremulous replies, as if she 
did not dare to speak in her hus- 
band's presence, were bringing an 
uglier frown to this face, and that he 
was changing from sullen to savage, 
she addressed her remarks and ques- 
tions to him. Mr. Rowan was a 
surveyor, and a good one, when he 
was sober, and he was a man of some 
general information and reading. 

The House of Yorke. 

When he could be got to talk, one 
was surprised to find in him the ruins 
of a gentleman. Now his answers 
were surly enough, but they were in- 
telligent, and the child, no longer 
looking at him from the outside, 
questioned him fearlessly, and kept 
up a sort of conversation till they rose 
from table. 

It was Mr. Rowan's custom to go 
out immediately after supper, and not 
come home till late in the evening, 
when he would stagger in, Sometimes 
stupid, sometimes furious with liquor. 
But to-night he lingered about when 
he had left the table, lighted his pipe, 
kicked the fire, wound up the clock, 
and cursed it for stopping, and finally, 
as if ashamed of the proposal even 
while making it, said to Edith, 
" Come, get the checker-board, and 
see if you can beat me." 

She was quick-witted enough, or 
sensitive enough, not to show any 
surprise, but quietly brought out the 
board, and arranged the chairs and 
stand. It was a square of board, 
rough at the edges, planed on one 
side, and marked off in checks with 
red chalk. The men were bits of' 
tanned leather, one side white, the 
other side black. She placed them, 
smiled, and said, " Now, I'm ready !" 

Mrs. Rowan's cheeks began to red- 
den up with excitement as she went 
about clearing the table, and washing 
the dishes, but she said nothing. She 
had even tact enough to go away 
into the bedroom, when her work 
was done, and leave the two to play 
out their game umvatched. There she 
sat in the falling dusk,her hands clasped 
on her knees, listening to every sound, 
expecting every moment to hear her 
husband go out. The three curtains 
in the room were rolled up to the 
very tops of the windows, and, in their 
places, three pictures seemed to hang 
on the smoky walls, and illumine the 
place. One was a high clay bank, 

its raw front ruddy with evening 
light, its top crowned with a bush 
burning like that of Horeb. The 
second was a hill covered with spruce- 
trees, nothing else, from the little 
cone, not a foot high, to the towering 
spire that pierced the sky. Some 
faint rose-reflections yet warmed their 
sombre shadows, and each sharp top 
was silvered with the coming moon- 
light. The third window showed a 
deserted ship-yard, with the skeleton 
of a bark standing on the stocks.' The 
shining river beyond seemed to flow 
through its ribs, and all about it the 
ground was covered with bright yel- 
low chips and shavings. Above it, in 
the tender green of the south-western 
sky, a cloud-bark freighted with crim- 
son light sailed off southward, losing 
its treasure as it went. These strong, 
rich lights, meeting and crossing in 
the room, showed clearly the woman's 
nervous face full of suspense, the very 
attitude, too, showing suspense, as 
she only half-sat on the side of the 
bed, ready to start up at a sound. 
After a while she got up softly, and 
went to the -fireplace to listen. 
All was still in the other room, 
but she heard distinctly the crackling 
of the fire. What had come over 
him ? What did it mean ? 

Presently there was a slight move- 
ment, and Edith's voice spoke out 
brightly : " Oh ! I've got another 
king. Now I have a chance !" 

The listener trembled with doubt 
and fear. Her husband was actually 
sitting at home, and playing checkers 
with Edith, instead of going out to 
get drunk ! He could not mean to 
go, or he would have gone at once. 
She longed to go and assure herself, 
to sit down in the room with him, 
but could scarcely find courage to do 
so. She held her breath as she went 
toward the door, and her hand falter- 
ed on the latch. But at last she sum- 
moned resolution, and went out. 


The House of Yorke. 

The lamp was lighted, the checker- 
board placed on the table beside it, 
and the two were talking over the 
slackening game. Edith had a good 
head for a child of her age, but her 
opponent was an excellent player, 
and she could not interest him long. 
She was trying every lure to keep 
him, though, and made a new tack 
as Mrs. Rowan came in, relating an 
experience of her own, instead of 
questioning him concerning his. " I 
want to tell you something I saw last 
night in my chamber," she said. 

Edith's chamber was the little dark 
attic, which was reached by a steep 
stairway at one side of the fireplace. 

" I was in bed, wide awake, and it 
was pitch dark. You know you put 
the cover over the skylight when it 
rained, the other day, and it has not 
been taken off. Well, instead of 
shutting my eyes, I kept them wide 
open, and looked straight into the 
dark. I've heard that you can see 
spirits so, and so I thought I might see 
my mamma. Pretty soon there was 
a great hole in the dark, like a whirl- 
pool, and after a minute there was a 
little light down at the bottom of it. 
I kept on looking, just as if I were 
looking down into a deep well, and 
then there came colors in clouds, 
sailing about, just like clouds in the 
sky. Some were red, others pink, 
others blue, and all colors. Some- 
times there would be a pattern of 
colors, just like figures in a carpet, 
only they were blocks, not flowers. 
I didn't dream it. I saw it as plainly 
as I see the fire this minute. What 
do you suppose it was, Mr. Rowan ?" 
He had listened with interest, and 
did not appear to find anything sur- 
prising in the recital. 

" I don't know much about op- 
tics," he answered ; " but I suppose 
there is a scientific reason for this, 
whether it is known or not. I've seen 
those colors that is, I did when I 

was a child; and De Quincey, in his 
Opium Confessions, tells the same 
story. I don't believe that grown 
people are likely to see them, for the 
reason that they shut their eyes, and 
their minds are more occupied. You 
have to stare a good while into the 
dark, and wait what comes, and not 
think much of anything." 

" Yes," said Edith. " But what do 
you guess it is ?" 

Mr. Rowan leaned back in his 
chair, with" his hands clasped behind 
his head, and considered the matter 
a moment, some finer intelligence 
than often showed there kindling be- 
hind his bloated face. 

" I should guess it might be this," 
he said. " Though the place appears 
at first to be dark, there are really 
some particles of light there. And 
since there are too few of them to 
keep up a connection in their perfect 
state, they divide into their colors, 
and make the clouds you saw. I don't- 
know why particles of light should 
not separate, when they have a great 
deal to do, and not much to do it 
with. Air does." 

" But what made them move ? " 
Edith asked. " They were never 

" Perhaps they were alive." 
She stared, with scintillating eyes. 
Mr. Rowan gave a short, silent 
laugh. He knew that the child was 
only questioning in order to keep him. 
" No reason why not," he said. " Ac- 
cording to Sir Humphry Davy, and 
some other folks, I believe, heat isn't 
caloric, but repulsive motion. It isn't 
matter, but it moves, goes where no- 
thing else can, passes through stone 
and iron, and can't be stopped, and 
can't be seen. Now, a something 
that is not matter, and yet is powerful 
enough to overcome matter, must be 
spirit. Heat is the soul of light ; and 
if heat is spirit, light is alive. Voila 
tout! ' 

The House of Yorke. 


He had forgotten himself a mo- 
ment in the pleasure of puzzling his 
questioner; but catching his wife 
looking at him with an expression of 
astonishment, he came back to the 
present. The smile died out of his 
face, and the frown came back. 

" Don't you want to play soli- 
taire ?" Edith struck in desperately. 

He made a slight motion of dis- 
sent, but it was not decided; so she 
brought out the pack of soiled cards, 
and laid them before him. There 
was a moment of hesitation, during 
which the heart of the wife throbbed 
tumultuously, and the nerves of the 
child tingled with an excitement that 
seemed to snap in sparks from her 
eyes. Then he took the cards, 
shuffled them, and began to play. 
Mrs. Rowan opened a book, and, 
holding it upside down, so as to hide 
her face, cried quietly behind the 
page. Her husband saw that she 
was crying, cast a savage glance at 
her, and seemed about to fling the 
cards down ; but Edith made some 
remark on the game, leaned toward 
him, and laid her head lightly on 
his arm. It was the first time in all* 
their acquaintance that she had vol- 
untarily touched him. At the same 
time she reached her foot, and push- 
ed Mrs. Rowan's under the table. 
Mrs. Rowan dropped her book, turn- 
ed her face away quickly, and said, 
with an effort of self-control rare for 
her : " Why, it's nine o'clock ! I'll 
go to bed, I think ; I'm tired." 

Nobody answering, or objecting, 
she went away, and left her husband 
still over his cards. 

"Isn't it about your bedtime?" 
he said presently to Edith. 

She got up slowly, unwilling to 
go, yet not daring to stay. Oh ! if 
she were but wise enough to know 
the best thing that could be said 
something which would strengthen 
his resolution, and keep him in. It 

was not yet too late for him to go out ; 
for, when every safe and pitiful door 
is closed, and slumber seals all mer- 
ciful eyes, the beacon of the grog- 
shop shines on through the night, 
and tells that the way to perdition 
still is open, and the eyes of the rum- 
seller yet on the watch. 

" How glad I shall be when Dick 
comes home !" she said. " Then I 
hope we can all go away from here, 
and wipe out, and begin over." 

She could not have said better, 
but, if she had known, she could have 
done better. What he needed was 
not an appeal to his sentiments, but 
physical help. Words make but little 
impression on a man while the tor- 
ments of a burning, infernal thirst are 
gnawing at his vitals. The drun- 
kard's body, already singed by the 
near flames of the bottomless pit, 
needed attending to at once ; his soul 
was crushed and helpless under the 
ruins of it. If an older, wiser head 
and hand had been there, started up 
the failing fire, and made some strong, 
bitter draught for him to drink, it 
might have doile good. But the child 
did not know, and the sole help she 
could give was an appeal to his 

It is as true of the finest and lofti- 
est natures, as of the perverted, that 
they cannot always conquer the evil 
one by spiritual means alone. Only 
spirits can do that. And often the 
tempter must laugh to see the physi- 
cal needs, which were made to play 
about our feet like children, unnotic- 
ed when the soul speaks, starved till 
they become demons whose clamor- 
ous voices drown the spirit's fainting 

But this man's demon was indul- 
gence, and not denial. He was not 
hovering on the brink of ruin, he was 
at the bottom, and striving to rise, 
and he could not endure that any 
eye should look upon his struggles. 


The House of Yorke. 

D you ! will you go to bed ?" 
he cried out fiercely. 

Edith started back, and, without 
another word, climbed the narrow 
stair to her attic. Before closing the 
trap-door, she looked down once, 
and saw Mr. Rowan tearing and twis- 
ting the cards he had been playing 


He stayed there the whole night, 
fighting desperately with such wea- 
pons as he had a will broken at the 
hilt, the memory of his son, and the 
thought of that dear little girl's tender 
but ineffectual pity. As for God, he 
no longer named him, save in impre- 
cation. The faith of his orphaned 
childhood had gone long ago. The 
glare of the world had scorched it up 
before it had fairly taken root. That 
there might be help and comfort in 
the church of his fathers never enter- 

ed his mind. " Drink ! drink !" that 
was his sole thought. " If I only 
had some opium !" he muttered, " or 
a cup of strong black coffee ! I won- 
der if I could get either of 'em any- 

The day was faintly dawning when 
he staggered to the window, tore 
down the paper curtain, and looked 
out for some sign of life. At the wharf 
opposite lay a vessel that had come up 
the evening before, and he knew by 
he smoke that the cook was getting 
breakfast there. 

" I'll go over and see if I can get 
some coffee or opium," he muttered, 
and pulled his hat on as he went out 
the door. 

" I'll ask for nothing but coffee or 
opium," he protested to himself, as 
he shut the door softly after him. 

Alas! alas! 



THE next morning was a gloomy 
one for the two who had nursed that 
trembling hope overnight, but they 
did not say much about it. Mrs. 
Rowan's face showed the lassitude of 
long endurance. Edith's disappoint- 
ment was poignant. She was no 
longer a looker-on merely, but an 
actor. The man had confided in her, 
had tacitly asked her sympathy, and 
his fail tire gave her a pang. She 
cast about in her thoughts what she 
should do, having a mind to put her 
own young shoulder to the wheel. 
Should she go in search of him, and 
give him one of those scoldings which 
he had acknowledged his need of? 
Should she lead him home, and pro- 
tect him from abuse ? 

" Hadn't I better go up to the 
post-office ?" she asked, after break- 
fast. " I haven't been there this 

good while, and there might be a let- 
ter from Dick." 

Mrs. Rowan hesitated : " Well, 
yes." She disliked being left alone, 
and she had no expectation of a let- 
ter. But it seemed like slighting her 
son to make any other reply to such 
a request. Besides, the village boys 
might be hooting her husband 
through the streets, and, if they were, 
she would like to know it. So Edith 
prepared herself, and went out. 

The ship-yard was full of business 
at this hour, and two men were at 
work close to the road, shaving a 
piece of timber. Edith looked at 
them, and hesitated. " I've a good 
mind to," she thought. She had 
never gone into the ship-yard when 
the men were there, and had never 
asked any one a question concern- 
ing Mr. Rowan. But now all was 

The House of Yorkc. 


changed, and she felt responsible. 
" Have you seen Mr. Rowan any- 
where, this morning ? " she asked, 
going up to the man nearest her. 

He drew the shave slowly to him, 
slipped off a long curl of amber- 
colored wood from the blade, then 
looked up to see who spoke. " Mr. 
Rowan ! " he repeated, as if he had 
never heard the name before. " Oh ! 
Dick, you mean. No, I haven't seen 
him, this morning. He may be lying 
round behind the timbers some- 

The child's eyes sparkled. Child 
though she was, she knew that the 
drunkard was more worthy of the 
title of gentleman than this man was, 
for he was rude and harsh only when 
he suffered. 

" Little girl," the other called out 
as she turned away, " your father is 
over there on board of the Annie 
Laurie. I saw him lying there half 
an hour ago, and I guess he hasn't 
stirred since." 

" He isn't my father !" she flashed 

The two burst into a rude laugh, 
which effectually checked the thanks 
she would have given for their infor- 
mation. She turned hastily away, 
and went up the road to the village. 

Mrs. Rowan finished her work, 
and sat down in the west window to 
watch. She was too anxious and dis- 
couraged to knit, even, and so did 
not discover the tight little strip of 
work around the stocking-heel. It 
was employment enough to look out 
for Edith ; not that she expected a 
letter, but because she wanted com- 
pany. She was conscious of some 
strength in the child, on which she 
leaned at times. As for Dick, she 
had little hope of good news from 
him, if any. She had no part in 
Edith's rose-colored expectations. 
Dick in peril from storm, foe, or sin ; 
Dick dying untended in foreign lands; 

Dick sinking down in cold, salt seas 
these. were the mother's fancies. 

After half an hour, a small figure 
appeared over the hills between the 
house and the village. Mrs. Rowan 
watched it absently, and with a slight 
sense of relief. But soon she noticed 
that the 'child was running. It was 
not like Edith to run. She was 
noticeably quiet, and even dignified 
in her manners. Could she have 
seen or heard anything of Mr. Rowan 
at the village ? The heart of the 
wife began to flutter feebly. Was he 
lying in the street ? or engaged in a 
drunken quarrel ? She leaned back 
in her chair, feeling sick, and tried to 
gather strength for whatever might 
come to her. 

Edith was near the house, now 
running a few steps, then walking, to 
gather breath, and she held her arm 
above her head, and swung it, and in 
her hand was a letter ! 

Away went all thought of her hus- 
band. In two minutes Mrs. Rowan 
had the letter in her hand, had torn 
it open, and she and Edith were both 
bending over it, and reading it to- 
gether. It had been lying in the 
post-office a week. It came from 
New York, and in a week from the 
date of it Dick would be at home ! 
He was on board the ship Halcyon, 
Captain Gary, and they were to come 
down to Seaton, and load with lumber 
as soon as their East Indian freight 
should be disposed of. He had met 
Captain Gary in Calcutta, Dick 
wrote, and, having done him a ser- 
vice there, had been taken on board 
his ship, and now was second mate. 
Next voyage he would sail as first 
mate. The captain was his friend, 
would do anything for him, and own- 
ed half the ship, Major Cleaveland 
owning the other half; so Dick's for- 
tune was made. But, he added, 
they must get out of that town. He 
had a month to spare, and should 


take them all away. Let them be 
ready to start on short notice. 

Having read this joyful letter 
through once, they began at the 
first word and read it all through 
again, dwelling here and there with 
exclamations of delight, stopped every 
minute by a large tear that- splashed 
down from Mrs. Rowan's eyes, or a 
yellow avalanche of Edith's trouble- 
some hair tumbling down as she bent 
eagerly over the letter. How many 
times they read that letter would be 
hard to say ; still harder to say how 
many times they might have read it, 
had there been no interruption. 

A crowd of men were approaching 
their door close upon them, and 
darkening ihe light before they look- 
ed up. " Had Dick come, and were 
the neighbors welcoming him ?" was 
the first thought. 

In her haste, Edith had left the 
outer door ajar, and now heavy feet 
came tramping in without any leave 
being asked; the inner door was 
pushed open, and not Dick, but 
Dick's father was brought in and 
laid on the floor. This was not the 
first time he had been brought home, 
but never before had he come with 
such a retinue and in such silence, 
and never before had these men taken 
oft" their hats to Mrs. Rowan. 

" We've sent for the doctor, ma'am." 
one of them said ; " but I guess it's 
no use " 

" I wouldn't have ordered him off, 
if I hadn't thought he was steady 
enough to go," said another, who 
looked very pale. " The captain 
was expected on board every minute, 
and it would be as much as my life 
is worth if he found a man drunk 

" He slipped on a plank, and fell," 
some one explained. 

Their talk was, to the bewildered 
woman, like sounds heard in a dream. 
So were Edith's passionate words as 

The House of Yorke. 

she ordered the men away. The one 
who had refused the dead man any 
better title than "Dick" was just 
coming in at the door, staring right 
and left, not too pitiful even then to 
be curious.regarding the place he was 
in. " Go out !" she said, pushing the 
door in his face. 

Some way. still in a dream, they 
were got rid of, all but two. Then 
the doctor came, and looked, and 
nodded his decision "All over!" 

A dream ! a dream ! 
* The bedroom was set in order, 
the silent sleeper laid out there, every 
stranger sent out of the house and 
locked out, and then Mrs. Rowan 
woke up. It was a terrible awaken- 

Madame Swetchine comments upon 
the fact that the thought of death is 
more terrible in an arid existence than 
in the extremes of joy and sorrow. It 
is true not only of those who die, but 
of the survivors. We go out more 
willingly on a difficult journey when 
we have been warmed and fed; we 
send our loved ones out with less 
pain when they have been thus forti- 
fied. It is the same, in a greater de- 
gree, when the journey is that one 
from which the traveller never returns. 
It adds a terrible pang to bereave- 
ment when we think that our lost 
one has never been happy ; how much 
more terrible if he has never been 
honored ! 

Of her husband's future Mrs. 
Rowan refused to think or to hear, 
though she must have trembled 
in the shadow of it. It might be that 
which made her so wild. She would 
allow no one to come near or speak 
to her save Edith. Those who came 
with offers of help and sympathy she 
ordered away. " Go !" she cried. " I 
want nothing of you! I and mine 
have been a byword to you for years. 
Your help comes too late !" 

She locked them out and pulled 

The House of Yorke. 

the curtains close, and, though people 
continued to come to the door through 
the whole day, no one gained admit- 
tance or saw a sign of life about the 
house. Inside sat the widow and the 
child, scarcely aware of the passage 
of time. They only knew that it was 
still day by the rays of sunlight that 
came in through holes in the paper 
curtains, and pointed across the rooms 
like long fingers. When there was a 
knock at the door, they started, lifted 
their faces, and listened nervously till 
the knocking ceased, as if afraid that 
some one might force an entrance. 
One would have fancied, from their 
expression, that savages or wild beasts 
were seeking to enter. They never 
once looked out, nor knew who came. 

Still less were they aware of Major 
Cleaveland standing in his cupola, 
spy-glass in hand, looking down the 
bay to see if that cloud of canvas 
coming up over the horizon was the 
good ship Halcyon coming home after 
her first voyage. Down-stairs he 
came again, three stairs at a jump, as 
joyful as a boy, in spite of his forty 
years, gave directions for the best 
dinner that the town would afford, 
ordered his carriage, and drove off 
down the river-road. 

The Halcyon was the largest vessel 
that had ever been built at Seaton, 
and as its launching had been an 
event in the town, so its first arrival 
was an incident to take note of. 
When Major Cleaveland drove down 
to the wharf where Mr. Rowan had 
that morning lost his life, more than 
a hundred persons were assembled 
there waiting for the ship, and others 
were coming. He stepped over to 
the Rowans' door, and knocked 
twice, once with his knuckles, and 
again with his whip-handle, but re- 
ceived no answer. " I would force 
the door, but that Dick is coming," 
he said. " It. is a shame to let the 
poor soul shut herself up alone." 

Soon, while the crowd watched, 
around the near curve of the river, 
where a wooded point pushed out, 
appeared the tip, then the whole of 
a bowsprit garlanded with green 
wreaths, then the leaning lady in her 
gilded robes, with a bird just escaping 
from her hand, then the ship rode 
gracefully into sight on the incoming 

A ringing shout welcomed her, and 
a shout from all hands on board an- 
swered back. 

Foremost of the little group on the 
deck stood a man of gigantic stature. 
His hair was coarse, and black, he 
wore an enormous black beard, and 
his face, though scarcely middle-ag- 
ed, was rough and scarred by the 
weather. Everybody knew Captain 
Gary, a sailor worthy of the old days 
of the Vikings, broad-shouldered, as 
strong as a lion, with a laugh that 
made the glasses ring when he sat at 
table. He was a plain, simple man, 
but grand in his simplicity. By his 
side stood a youth of twenty, who 
looked slight in comparison, though 
he was really manly and well grown. 
He had sea-blue eyes, quick, long- 
lashed, and as bright as diamonds; 
his face was finely moulded, ruddy, 
and spirited; his hair, that glistened 
in the sunlight, was chestnut-brown. 
A gallant lad he was, the very ideal 
sailor-boy. But his expression was 
defiant, rather than placid, and he 
did not join in the hurrahs. The wel- 
coming applause was not for him, he 
well knew. They were no friends of 
his who crowded the wharf. He had 
some bitter recollections of slight or 
injury connected with nearly every 
one of them. But he was no longer 
in their power, and that gave him 
freedom and ease in meeting them. 
The time had gone by when he could 
look upon these country folks as final 
judges in any matter whatever, or as 
of any great consequence to him. 

The House of Yorke. 

He had seen the world, had won 
friends, had proved that he could do 
something, that he was somebody. 
He was not ashamed of himself by 
any means, was young Dick Rowan. 
Still, it was no pleasure to him to see 
them, for it brought back the memory 
of sufferings which had not yet lost 
their sting. 

All this shouting and rejoicing was 
as the idle wind to the mourners 
across the way. Their fears of in- 
trusion set at rest, since no one had 
attempted to force an entrance to the 
house, they no longer took notice 
even of the knocking at the door. 
Both had fallen into a sort of stupor, 
induced by the exhaustion of long 
weeping, the silence and semi-dark- 
ness of their rooms, and the removal 
of what had been the daily torment- 
ing fear of their lives. There was no 
longer any need to tremble when a 
step approached, lest some one should 
come in frenzied with drink, and ter- 
rify them with his ravings and 'vio- 
lence. Mrs. Rowan sat by her hus- 
band's side, leaning back in her 
chair, with closed eyes and clasped 
hands, only half-alive. Edith lay on 
the kitchen-floor, where she had 
thrown herself in a passion of weep- 
ing, her arms above her head, her 
face hidden, and her long hair veil- 
ing her. The weeping was over, and 
she lay silent and motionless. Neither 
that shouting over on the wharf, nor 
Major Cleaveland's loud knocking 
with his whip-handle, had made the 
slightest impression on her. 

But at sunset came one who would 
not be denied. He tried the lock, 
and, finding it fastened, knocked 
gently. There was no answer. He 
knocked loudly, and still there was 
no reply. Then he set his knee 
against the rickety panel, took the 
knob in a strong grasp, and wrench- 
ed the door open. Stepping quickly 
into the little entry, he looked to right 

and left, saw the girl lying, face down, 
on the floor, and the woman sitting 
beside her dead, both as still as the 

Something like a dream came into 
the half-swoon, half-sleep in which 
Edith Yorke lay. She heard a slight 
cry, then a stifled sob, and words 
hurriedly spoken in a low voice. 
Then there was a step that paused 
near her. She put her hair back with 
one hand, and turned her face list- 
lessly. The curtain had been raised 
to let in the light, and there stood 
a young man looking down at her. 
His face was pale with the sudden 
shock of grief and distress, but a faint 
indication of a smile shone through 
as she looked up at him. 

Her first glance was a blank one, 
her second flashed with delight. She 
sprang up as if electrified. " O 
Dick ! O Dick ! How glad I am !" 

The world moved rightly at last ! 
Order was coming out of chaos ; for 
Dick had come home ! 

He shook hands with her rather 
awkwardly, somewhat embarrassed 
by the warmth of her welcome. 
" We're to go right off," he said. 
" Captain Gary will help us." 

"Yes, Dick!" she replied, and 
asked no questions. He knew what 
was right. With him had come all 
help, and strength, and hope. 

The next morning, long before 
dawn, they started. A boat was rea- 
dy at the wharf, and Captain Gary 
and Dick carried out the dead in a 
rude coffin that had been privately 
made on board the Halcyon. They 
shall not stare at our poor funeral, 
captain," Dick had said ; " and I will 
not ask them for a coffin or a grave." 

"All right!" his friend had an- 
swered heartily. " I'm your man. 
Whatever you want to do, I'll help 
you about." 

So the watch on the Halcyon was 
conveniently deaf and blind, the boat 

The House of Yorkc. 


was ready in the dark of morning, 
the coffin carried out to it, and Mrs. 
Rowan and Edith helped in after. 
When they were in their places, and 
the captain seated, oars in hand, 
Dick went back to the house, and 
stayed there a little while. No 
questions were asked of him when 
he came away, bringing nothing with 
him, and he offered no explanation, 
only took the oars, and silently guid- 
ed their boat out into the channel. 
The banks on either side were a solid 
blackness, and the sky was opaque 
and low, so that their forms were 
scarcely visible to each other as they 
sat there, Mrs. Rowan in the bows 
near her son, Edith beside Captain 
Gary, who loomed above her like a 
mountain of help. 

Presently, as they floated around 
the point that stood between the vil- 
lage and the bay, a faint blush of 
light Avarmed the darkness through, 
and grew till the low-hung clouds 
sucked it up like a sponge and show- 
ed a crimson drapery over their heads. 
It was too early for morning light, 
too fierce, and, moreover, it came 
from the wrong direction. The east 
was before them ; this sanguinary 
aurora followed in their wake. It 
shone angrily through the strip of 
woods, and sent a long, swift beam 
quivering over die water. This fiery 
messenger shot like an arrow into 
the boat, and reddened Mrs. Rowan's 
hands, clasped on the edge of the 
coffin. By the light of it, Dick 
saw all their faces turned toward 

" The house w r as mine !" he said 

The captain nodded approval, and 
Edith leaned forward to whisper, 
" Yes, Dick !" But Mrs. Rowan 
said not a word, only sat looking 
steadily backward, the light in her 

" I'm glad of it !" sighed Edith to 


herself. She had been thinking since 
they left the house how people would 
come and wander through it, and 
peer at everything, and know just 
how wretchedly they had lived. Now 
they could not, for it would all be 
burnt up. She sat and fancied the 
fire catching here and there in their 
poor little rooms, how the clock would 
tick till the last minute, even when 
its face was scorched and its glass 
shivered, and then fall with a sudden 
crash ; how the flames would catch at 
the bed on which the dead man had 
lain, the mean paper curtains, the 
chair she had sat in, Mrs. Rowan's 
little rocking-chair, at the table w r here 
they had sat through so many dreary 
meals. The checker-board would 
go, and the cards with which Mr. 
Rowan had played the night before, 
and the knitting-work with the puck- 
ered heel, and her apron that the 
drunkard had wiped his ghastly face 
with.. The shelves in the little closet 
would heat, and blacken, and redden, 
and flame, and down would come 
their miserable store of dishes, rat- 
tling into the yawning cellar. Fire 
would gnaw at the ceiling, bite its 
way into the attic, burn up her books, 
creep to the bed where she had lain 
and seen rainbow colors in the 
dark, spread a sheet of flame over 
the whole, rise, and burst through 
the roof. She saw it all. She even 
fancied that each long-used article 
of their scanty plenishing, worn away 
by human touch, constantly in the 
sight of human eyes, would perish with 
some human feeling, and send out a 
sharp cry after them. The crackling 
of flames was to her the cries of 
burning wood. But she was glad of 
it, for they were going to wipe out 
and begin anew. There seemed to 
her something very grand and ex- 
ceedingly proper in it all. 

When their boat glided from the 
river into the bay, others besides them- 


The House of Yorke. 

selves became aware of the confla- 
gration, and the village bells rang 
out a tardy alarm. Dick laughed 
.bitterly at the sound, but said no- 

" They were sorry for you, Dick," 
the captain said. " I heard a good 
many speak of it. They would have 
been glad to do your family any kind- 
ness. I don't blame you for coming 
off; but you mustn't think there was 
no kind feeling for you among the 
folks there." 

" Kindness may come too late, cap- 
tain," the young man answered. " I 
would have thanked them for it years 
ago, when I had nowhere to turn to, 
and hadn't a friend in the world ; now 
I don't thank them, and I don't want 
their kindness. Even if I would take 
it at last, neither they nor you have 
any right to expect that I will run 
to take the hand that has struck 
me so many blows the first time it is 
held out. I don't trust 'em. I want 
proofs of good- will when I've had 
proofs of ill-will." 

" Dick is right, captain," his mo- 
ther interposed in a weary tone. 
" You can't judge of such things if 
you haven't felt them. It's easier to 
hurt a sore heart than a sound one." 

Within an hour they reached one 
of those desolate little sandy islands 
with which the bay was studded ; and 
now the faint spring dawn was break- 
ing, and the heavy masses of cloud lift- 
ing and contracting, pale reaches of 
sky visible between. By the cold glim- 
mer they scooped out a grave, and 
placed the coffin in it. The water 
washed the shore, and a chilly, sigh- 
ing wind came up from the east. 

As the first shovelful of earth fell 
on the coffin, Mrs. Rowan caught 
back the captain's arm. " Don't cov- 
er him out of sight without some 
word spoken over him !" she implor- 
ed. " He was once young, and am- 
bitious, and kind, like you. He would 

have been a man if he hadn't had 
bad luck, and then got into bad com- 
pany. He was more wretched than 
we were. O sir! don't cover him 
out of sight as if he were a dog." 

The sailor looked both pained and 
embarrassed. " I'm not much used 
to praying, ma'am," he said. " I'm a 
Methodist, but I'm not a church- 
member. If there was a Bible here, I 
would read a chapter; but there 

Dick walked off a little way, turn- 
ed his back, and stood looking at the 
water. Mrs. Rowan, kneeling on the 
sand-heap beside the grave, wept 
loudly. " His father was a Catho- 
lic," she cried. " I don't think much 
of Catholics; but, if poor Dick had 
stood by his religion, he could have 
had a priest to say some word over 
him. I wouldn't have minded hav- 
ing a priest here. He'd be better than 

Captain Gary was a strict Metho- 
dist, and he felt that it would never 
answer to have the absence of a Ca- 
tholic priest regretted. Something 
must be done. "I could sing a 
hymn, ma'am," he said hesitatingly; 
and, as no one objected, he straigh- 
tened himself, dropped his spade, 
and sang, to the tune of the " Dead 
March in Saul," 

" Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb, 

Take this new treasure to thy trust, 
And give these sacred relics room 
To slumber in the silent dust," 

singing the hymn through. 

In a confined place the sailor's 
voice would have been too powerful, 
and, perhaps, would have sounded 
rough ; but in open air, with no wall 
nearer than the distant hills, no ceil- 
ing but the sky, and with the com- 
plex low harmony of the ocean bear- 
ing it up and running through all its 
pauses, it was magnificent. He sang 
slowly and solemnly, his arms folded, 



his face devoutly raised, and the 
clouds seemed to part before his 

When the hymn was ended, he 
remained a moment without motion 
or change of face, then stooped for 
his shovel, and began to fill in the 

While listening to him, Edith Yorke 
had stood in a solemn trance, look- 
ing far off seaward ; but at sound of 
the dropping gravel, her quiet broke 
up, like ice in spring. She threw 
her arm, and her loose hair with it, 
up over her head, and sobbed behind 

that veil. But her tears were not for 
Mr. Rowan. Her soul had taken a 
wider range, and, without herself be- 
ing aware of it, she was mourning for 
all the dead that ever had died or 
ever should die. 

The first sunbeam that glanced 
across the water showed a feather of 
smoke from a steamer that came up 
through the Narrows into the bay, 
and the row-boat, a lessening speck, 
making for the wharf. Twice a 
week, passengers and freight were 
taken and left at this wharf, three 
miles below the town. 



Saunterer (from Sain.'e Terre), a pilgrim to holy lands or places." THOKEAU. 

" THEY who never go to the Holy 
Land in their walks are indeed mere 
idlers and vagabonds ; but they who 
do go there are saunterers in the good 
sense, such as I mean," says Thoreau. 
I found the Holy Land in Paris, the 
city of fashion and gaiety, and where 
le supreme bonhenr is said to be amuse- 
ment. Every church is a station of 
the divine Passion, and to every votary 
therein could I say: 

" I behold in thee 

An image of him who died on the tree. 
Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns." 

Before these churches, consecrated 
to some sweet mystery of the Gospel 
or bearing the hallowed names of 
those who had put on the sacred 
stole of Christ's sufferings, I always 
stopped. I was like Duke Richard, 
in the Roman du Ran: 

" Whene'er an open church he found, 
He entered in with fervent means 
To offer up his orisons: 
And if the doors were closed each one, 
He knelt upon the threshold stone." 

And one might well kneel upon the 
threshold stone of these ancient 
churches, feeding mind and sou) 
with sacred legends of the past em- 
bodying holy truths which are de- 
picted on the outer walls, as at the 
north door of Notre Dame de Paris, 
the arch of which contains in many 
compartments- representations of a 
diabolic pact and of a deliverance 
effected by our potent Lady, which is 
related in a metrical romance com- 
posed by Ruteboef, in the time of 
St. Louis. Saladin, a magician, wears 
a cap of pyramidal form. And what 
a mine of legendary and biblical lore 
all over these venerable walls ! Ser- 
mons in stones come down to us 
from the stonen saints in their niches 
and the bas-reliefs which speak louder 
than human tongues. The first stone 
of this edifice was laid by Charle- 
magne, and the last by Philip Augus- 
tus. How much this fact alone tells ! 
And there is the Porte Rouge, an 


exquisite specimen of the Gothic 
style of the fifteenth century, the 
expiatory monument of Jean-sans- 
Peur after the assassination of the 
Duke of Orleans. In the arch are 
the Duke and Duchess of Burgundy, 
in the attitude of supplication, one 
on each side of our Saviour and the 
Blessed Virgin. It is an eternal 
Libera me de sanguiiiibus, Dcus. 

And then the Portail du Milieu, 
with the last judgment in the ogive, 
the angels sounding the last trump, 
the dead issuing forth from their 
graves, the separation of the righte- 
ous from the wicked, the great Judge 
with the emblems of the crucifixion, 
the Virgin and the loved apostle 
John, and, finally, a glimpse of the 
joys of heaven and the horrors of 
hell. Yes, one could linger here for 
days before this Biblia pat/permit, 
were there no more powerful attrac- 
tions within. And this is not the 
only church the very exterior of 
which is full of instruction. 

In the porch of St. Germain de 
1'Auxerrois is the statue of a maiden 
holding in one hand a breviary and 
in the other a lighted taper. By her 
is a demon with a pair of bellows, 
vainly trying to blow out the light 
symbol of faith and prayer. This is 
the statue of one who deserves to be 
ranked in history with Joan of Arc 
on account of her heroism, for twice 
she saved Paris by her courage and 
her prayers. Would that she might 
once more have intervened to save 
the capital of fair France from the in- 
vader ! St. Genevieve is placed thus 
at the entrance of the church of St. 
Germain to remind us of his connec- 
tion with her history. 

When St. Germain, Bishop of Aux- 
erre, and St. Lupus, the learned 
Bishop of Troyes and the intimate 
friend of Sidonius Apollinaris, were 
on their way to Britain to combat the 
heresy of Pelagianism, they passed 

through the village now called Nan- 
terre, about two leagues from Paris. 
All the inhabitants of the place 
poured forth to meet them and ob- 
tain their benediction. St. Germain 
noticed in the crowd a little girl with 
a face as radiant as an_ angel's. His 
prophetic instinct told him she was 
destined to be a chosen vessel of 
God's grace, and, when she expressed 
a wish to be the spouse of Christ, he 
led her with him to the church, hold- 
ing his apostolic hands upon her head 
during the chanting of the vesper ser- 
vice. He afterward suspended a 
bronze medal, on which was a cross, 
from her neck, in remembrance of 
her consecration to God, bidding her 
henceforth give up all ornaments of 
silver and gold. " Let them who 
live for this world have these," said 
he. " Do thou, who art become the 
spouse of Christ, desire only spiritual 
adorning." Dr. Newman says it was 
a custom, even among the early 
Christians, to wear on the neck some 
token of the mysteries of their reli- 
gion. Long after, in memory of this 
event, the Canons of St. Genevieve, 
at Paris, distributed upon her festival 
a pain benit on which was an impres- 
sion of this coin. 

Eighteen years after, St. Germain 
again passed through Nanterre, once 
more on his way to Britain. He 
had not forgotten Genevieve. At 
the age of fifteen, she had received 
the virgin's veil from the hands of 
the Bishop of Paris. Her parents 
dying, she went to Paris to reside 
with her godmother. Here she 
suffered that persecution so often the 
lot of those who live godly lives. 
Those who outstrip their fellows even 
on the path of piety are objects of 
envy, and they who leave the beaten 
track of everyday religion are de- 
rided. St. Genevieve was visited at 
Paris by the holy Bishop of Auxerre, 
who saluted her with respect as a 



temple in which the divine Presence 
was manifest. Her life was one of 
prayer and penance. She used to 
water her couch with her tears, and 
when the adversary of our souls ex- 
tinguished the taper that lighted her 
vigils she rekindled it with her pray- 
ers. When Attila, king of the Huns, 
threatened Paris, she besought the 
inhabitants not to leave their homes, 
declaring that Heaven would inter- 
vene to save them. The barbarians, 
in effect, were dispersed by a storm, 
and betook themselves toward Or- 
leans. In the church of St. Germain 
there is a chapel dedicated to St. 
Genevieve. with a painting represent- 
ing her haranguing the inhabitants of 

When Childeric besieged Paris, 
and sickness and famine were carry- 
ing off the inhabitants, St. Gene- 
vieve laid aside her religious dress, 
took command of the boats that went 
up the Seine for succor, and brought 
back a supply of provisions. And 
when the city had to surrender, the 
conquerer treated her with marked 
respect, and Clovis loved to grant 
her petitions. The remains of pagan- 
ism were rooted out of Paris through 
her influence over him and Clotilda, 
and the first church built on the spot 
that now bears her name, but then 
dedicated under the invocation of Sts. 
Peter and Paul. In that church was 
the shepherdess of Nanterre buried 
beside Clovis and Clotilda. St. Eloi 
wrought a magnificent shrine for her 
remains, but it was destroyed at the 
Revolution, and the contents publicly 
burned. A portion of her relics is 
now enshrined at the Pantheon. I 
found lights burning there, and flow- 
ers and wreaths, and votive offerings, 
and the sweet-smelling incense of 
prayer rising from a group of people 
praying around. But the magnifi- 
cence of the Pantheon is miserably 
depressing, as Faber says. How 

much more I delighted in the inter- 
esting church of St. Etienne du Mont, 
where is the curious old tomb of St. 
Genevieve ! There too were lights 
and ex-votos, and an old woman sat 
near the tomb to dispense tapers to 
those who wished to leave a little 
gleam of love and prayer behind 
them. Once what lights and jewels 
blazed around such shrines, and what 
crowds of devout pilgrims! Now, 
a few dim tapers, a few prayerful 
hearts, light up the place. 

Now it is much if here and there 
One dreamer, by thy genial glare. 
Trace the dim Past, and slowly climb 
The steep of Faith's triumphant prime." 

Now the world seems to begrudge 
the temple of the Most High the sil- 
ver and the gold that belong to him. 
And jewels are not to be thought of. 
Such wealth must be kept in circula- 
tion, that is, on Prince Esterhazy's 
coat, I suppose, and by ladies of 
fashion. The world nowadays is 
like Julian the Apostate, who was dis- 
pleased at the magnificence of the 
chalices used in the Christian 
churches. For me, I love these 
offerings from time to eternity, as 
Madame de Stae'l says. Let all that 
is most precious be poured out at the 
feet of the Saviour, and let no one 
murmur if such offerings are crystal- 
lized. I took pleasure in looking at 
some splendid vessels of the sanc- 
tuary at Notre Dame, and thought : 

" Never was gold or silver graced thus 

To bring this body and this blood to us 

Is more 

Than to crown kings. 
Or be made rings 
For star-like diamonds to glitter in. 

When the great King offers to come to me 

As food. 
Shall I suppose his carriages can be 

Too good ? 
No ! Ktars to gold 
Turned never could 
Be rich enough to be employed so. 


If I might wish, then, I would have this bread, 

This wine, 
Vesslled in what the sun might blush to shed 

His shine 

When he should see- 
But till that be, 
I'll rest contented with it as it is." 

In my saunterings I frequently 
lingered before the tower of St. 
Jacques de la Boucherie, the highest 
in Paris, and the most perfect speci- 
men of Gothic architecture. The re- 
mainder of the church was demolish- 
ed at the Revolution. The tower was 
saved by the artifice of an architect, 
who besought the crowd to imitate the 
enlightened English revolutionists, 
who destroyed their churches, but 
preserved the towers to be converted 
into shot-houses ! In this church 
crowds used to assemble to hear Bour- 
daloue thunder, as Madame de Se- 
vigne expresses it. I fancy I can 
hear that uncompromising preacher 
ringing out like a trump in the pres- 
ence of the Great Monarch, " Thou 
art the man !" This exclamation should 
have appealed to the heart of the 
people, and saved the church he lov- 
ed from profanation. 

This church was built by the alms 
of pious people. Nicholas Flamel 
built the portal in 1388, which he cov- 
ered with devout images and devices, 
which were regarded, even by the 
antiquaries of the last century, as 
symbols of alchemy. This Flamel 
was a benefactor to many churches 
and hospitals of Paris, which he took 
pleasure in adorning with carvings 
in which he made all things tributa- 
ry, as it were, to the worship of God. 
At first a simple scrivener, he became 
painter, architect, chemist, philoso- 
pher, and poet. He certainly had the 
fancy of a poet, and wrote in durable 
materials. He left by his will nine- 
teen chalices of silver gilt to as many 

These churches and religious hous- 
es are all connected with the history 

of the city. Paris owed its extension 
on the north side of the Seine to the 
school in the Abbey of St. Germain 
de 1'Auxerrois, which was famous at 
an early age. There were four great 
abbeys around Paris in the time of 
the third dynasty St. Lawrence, St. 
Genevieve, St. Germain de 1'Auxer- 
rois, and St. Germain des Pres. These 
were surrounded by their dependen- 
cies, forming villages which gradually 
extended till they united to enclose 
the city, then chiefly confined to the 
island. The poor loved to live near 
these abbeys. St. Germain des 
Pres, besides providing for the poor 
in general, used privately to support 
several destitute families who were 
ashamed of their poverty. The old 
abbots of this monastery were both 
lords spiritual and temporal in the 
suburbs on that side of the city. 
This abbey was a monument of repen- 
tance. Digby says when it was rebuilt 
in the year 1000 the great tower 
and the portals were left as before. 
The statues of eight kings stood at 
the entrance, four on the right hand 
and four on the left. One of them 
held a scroll on which was written the 
tragical name of Clodomir. And 
another, with no beatific circle around 
his head, held an open tablet on 
which were the first and last letters 
of the name Clotaire. These were 
the statues of the murderer and his 

The square tower of the monaste- 
ry, built in the time of Charlemagne, 
contributed greatly to the defence 
of the house against the Normans. 
A stout old monk, Abbon, conducted 
the defence, and proved himself on 
this occasion a valiant defender of 
the walls of Zion. Perhaps it was 
his skilful hand that wrote an Home- 
ric poem on the siege of Paris by 
the Normans in the year 885. If 
not by him, it was by a monk of a 
similar name. 



The Pre aux Clercs, now the Fau- 
bourg St. Germain, took its name from 
being a place of recreation for the 
students of this abbey. One of the 
scholars, Sylvester de Sacy, so learn- 
ed in the Semitic languages, ascribed 
the bent of his mind to the aid and en- 
couragement given him by one of 
the monks who took his constitutional 
in the abbey gardens at the same 
time as the boy, then only twelve 
years old. 

The library belonging to this abbey 
was celebrated in the middle ages, 
and there were monks of literary 
eminence in the house. Dacherius 
was the librarian when he composed 
his Spidlegiuni. Usuard compiled a 
martyrology. They had a printing 
press set up immediately after the 
invention of printing, which gives one 
a favorable idea of their mental acti- 
vity. Most of these old monastic 
libraries were accessible to all ; that 
of the Abbey of St. Victor was open 
to the public three days in the week; 
and there were public libraries at- 
tached to some of the parish churches. 
In the time of Charles V., rightly 
named the Wise, he ordered the 
Royal Library of Paris to be illumin- 
ated with thirty portable lamps, and 
that a silver one should be suspended 
in the centre for the benefit of those 
students who prolonged their re- 
searches into the night. The numer- 
ous collections of books in Paris 
made that city very attractive to 
certain minds even in the middle 
ages. Richard de Bury, Bishop of 
Durham, in England, who establish- 
ed the first public library in that 
country, used to resort to Paris for 
fresh supplies. " O blessed God of 
gods in Sion !" he exclaims, " what a 
flood of pleasure rejoices our heart 
whenever we are at liberty to visit 
Paris, that paradise of the world, 
where the days always seem too 
short and too few through the im- 

mensity of our love ! There are 
libraries more redolent of delight than 
all the shops of aromatics ; there are 
the flowering meadows of all volumes 
that can be found anywhere. There, 
indeed, untying our purse-strings, and 
opening our treasures, we disperse 
money with a joyful heart (evidently 
the truth, for he paid the Abbot of 
St. Albans fifty pounds weight of 
silver for thirty or forty volumes), and 
ransom with dirt books that are be- 
yond all price. But lo ! how good 
and pleasant a thing it is to gather 
together in one place the arms of 
clerical warfare, that there may be 
a supply of them for us to use in the 
wars against heretics, should they 
ever rise up against us !" 

What would this book-loving pre- 
late have done had he foreseen that 
the church would one day be accused 
of being a foe to progress and to the 
diffusion of knowledge ! This bishop, 
who lived in the thirteenth century, 
was the Chancellor and High Trea- 
surer of England, and celebrated for 
his love and enouragement of litera- 
ture. He had libraries in all his 
palaces, and the apartment he com- 
monly occupied was so crammed 
with books that he was almost in- 
accessible. He was said to breathe 
books, so fond was he of being among 
them. None but a genuine lover of 
books would give such amusing di- 
rections for their preservation. " Not 
only do we serve God," says he, " by 
preparing new books, but also by pre- 
serving and treating with great care 
those we have already. Truly, after 
the vestments and vessels dedicated 
to our Lord's body, sacred books de- 
serve to be treated with most rever- 
ence by clerks. In opening and 
shutting books, they should avoid all 
abruptness, not too hastily loosing the 
clasps, nor failing to shut them when 
they have finished reading, for it is 
far more important to preserve a book 



than a shoe." He then goes on to 
speak of soiling books ; of marking 
passages with the finger-nails, " like 
those of a giant;" of swelling the 
junctures of the binding with straws 
or flowers ; and of eating over them, 
leaving the fragments in the book, as 
if the reader had no bag for alms. 
Waxing warm over the idea, he 
wishes such persons might have to 
sit over leather with a shoemaker ! 
And then there are impudent youths, 
who presume to fill up the broad 
margins with their unchastened pens, 
noting down whatever frivolous thing 
occurs to their imagination! And 
" there are some thieves, too, who 
cut out leaves or letters, which kind 
of sacrilege ought to be prohibited 
under the penalty of anathema." The 
bishop had evidently had some sad 
experience with his cherished tomes. 
His testimony respecting the appre- 
ciation of books by the monks of his 
time is valuable. Remember the age, 
reader that period of deepest dark- 
ness just before the dawn! "The 
monks who are so venerable," says 
he in his PhiloMblion, " are accus- 
tomed to be solicitous in regard to 
books, and to be delighted in their 
company, as with all riches, and 
thence it is that we find in most 
monasteries such splendid treasures 
of erudition, giving a delectable light 
to the path of laics. Oh ! that devout 
labor of their hands in writing books ; 
how preferable to all georgic care ! 
All things else fail with time. Saturn 
ceases not to devour his offspring, for 
oblivion covereth the glory of the 
world. But God hath provided a 
remedy for us in books, without which 
all that was ever great would have 
been without memory. Without 
shame we may lay bare to books the 
poverty of human ignorance. They 
are the masters who instruct us with- 
out rods, without anger, and without 
money. (The bishop had evidently 

forgotten those fifty pounds of silver, 
and many more besides !) O books ! 
alone liberal and making liberal, who 
give to all, and seek to emancipate 
all who serve you. You are the 
tree of life and the river of Paradise, 
with which the human intelligence is 
irrigated and made fruitful." 

But I did not always linger at the 
doors of churches, studying the walls 
and pondering on their history. The 
true Catholic knows that these mag- 
nificent churches are only vast shrines 
enclosing the great Object of his ado- 
ration and love. M. Olier, when 
travelling, never saw the spire of a 
church in the distance without call- 
ing upon all with him to repeat the 
Tantum Ergo. He used to say : 
"When I see a place where my 
Master reposes, I have a feeling of 
unutterable joy." This feeling comes 
over every cue at the first glimpse 
of that undying lamp before the ta- 
bernacle, "that small flame which 
rises and falls like a dying pulse, 
flickering up and down, emblema- 
tic of our lives, which even now thus 
wastes and wanes." 

The very first act on stepping into 
a church completely changes the 
current of one's thoughts. The holy 
water, the sign of the cross, dispel 
the remembrance of material things 
and recall devout thoughts of the 

" Whene'er across this sinful flesh of mine 

I draw the holy sign, 

All pood thoughts stir within me, and collect 
Their slumbering strength divine." 

The btnitiers at St. Sulpice are two 
immense shells, given to Francis the 
First by the Republic of Venice ; but 
for all that, the eau benite seemed 
just as holy, and I made the sign of 
the cross just as devoutly. 

For devotion, I prefer the largest 
churches, because the seclusion is 
more perfect, as at Notre Dame. 
Behind some pillar or in the depths 


of some dim chapel, one can find 
perfect solitude where he can be 
alone with God. Alone with God ! 
that in itself is prayer. The world- 
weary soul finds it good simply to sit 
or kneel with clasped hands in the 
divine Presence. 

" My spirit I love to compose, 
In humble trust my eyelids close 

With reverential resignation, 
No wish conceived, no thought expressed, 

Only a sense of supplication." . 

Joubert says the best prayers are 
those that have nothing distinct, and 
which thus partake of simple adora- 
tion; and Hawthorne asks : "Could 
I bring my heart in unison with those 
praying in yonder church with a fer- 
vor of supplication but no distinct 
request, would not that be the safest 
kind of prayer?" Surely every de- 
vout soul feels that " prayer is not 
necessarily petition," and what is tech- 
nically known as the prayer of con- 
templation is the very inspiration of 
such churches. In this temple of 
silence, man seems to be brought 
back to his primeval relations with 
his Creator. 

What mute eloquence in these 
walls ! What an appeal to the imagina- 
tion in the calmness ! Earthly voices 
die away on the threshold, and peace, 
dovelike, broods over the very en- 
trance. A daily visit to such a tem- 
ple gives life a certain elevation. The 
very poor who come here to pray 
must acquire a certain dignity of 
character. How many generations 
have worshipped beneath these ar- 
ches! The saints have passed over 
the very pavement I tread. I recall 
St. Louis, who, out of respect to our 
Lord, had laid off his shoes and di- 
vested himself of his royal robes, 
bearing solemnly into this church 
the holy Crown of Thorns. And great 
sinners, too, are in this long proces- 
sion of the past. There is Count 
Raymond of Toulouse, barefoot, and 

clad only in the white tunic of a peni- 
tent, coming to receive absolution 
from the papal legate before the 
grand altar. 

When one recalls the popes, car- 
dinals, and other dignitaries of the 
church, the kings and queens and 
knights of the olden time who have 
been here, one almost shrinks from 
entering such a throng of the mighty 
ones of the earth. It seems as if he 
were elbowing the Great Monarch or 
the gallant Henry of Navarre. 

On the galleries around the nave 
were formerly suspended the flags 
and standards taken in war, and it 
was in allusion to this custom that 
the Prince of Conti, after the victories 
of Fleurus, Steinkerque, and La Mar- 
saille, made an opening in the crowd 
around the door of the church for the 
Marechal de Luxembourg, whom he 
held by the hand, by crying: " Place, 
place, messieurs, au tapissier de Notre 
Dame !" " Room, room, gentlemen, 
for the upholsterer of Notre Dame !" 

It is charming to see the birds 
flying about in the arches of this 
church, as if 'nature had taken its 
venerable walls to her bosom. It 
made me think of the old hermits of 
the middle ages, living with the sea- 
birds in their ocean caves. Like St. 
Francis, the canons of Notre Dame 
say the divine office with their " little 
sisters, the birds ;" and the bird is the 
symbol of the soul rising heavenward 
on the wings of prayer. We, like the 
birds, build our nests here for a few 
days. Blessed are we if they are 
built within the influences of the sanc- 
tuary which temper the storms and 
severities of life. It is only in the 
clefts of the rocks that wall in the 
mystic garden of the church that 
there is safety for the dovelike soul. 

In the transept is the altar of Our 
Lady, starry with lamps. Above her 
statue is one of her titles', appealing 
to every heart Consolatrix afflicto- 


rum ! To this church M. Olier came, 
in all his troubles, to the altar of 
Mary. There is also a fine statue 
of her over the grand altar, formerly 
at the Carmes. No church is com- 
plete without an altar of the Blessed 
Virgin. Wherever there is a cross, 
Mary must be at its foot, as at Cal- 
vary, directing our eyes, our thoughts, 
our hearts, to him who hangs there- 

" O that silent, ceaseless mourning! 
O those dim eyes! never turning 
From that wondrous, suffering Son ! 

" Virgin holiest, virgin purest. 
Of that anguish thou endurest 
Make me bear with thee my part." 

In traversing Paris, one passes 
many private residences of interest 
which have a certain consecration 
the consecration of wit and genius. 
I cannot say I ever went so far as 
Horace Walpole, who never passed 
the Hotel de Carnavalet, the resi- 
dence of Madame de Sevigne, with- 
out saying his Ave before it, much as 
I admire her esprit, and though she 
was the granddaughter of St. Jane 
de Chantal, the foundress of the Nuns 
of the Visitation. Walpole thought 
the house had a foreign-looking 
air, and said it looked like an ex- 
voto raised in her honor by some of 
her foreign votaries. It was once an 
elegant residence, with its sculptured 
gateway and Ionic pilasters, and its 
court adorned with statues. In the 
day of the spiritiidle letter-writer, it 
was the resort of the learned and the 
refined ; now, O tempora ! it is a 
boarding-school, and the salon of 
Madame de Sevigne (the temple of 
" Notre Dame de Livry," to quote 
Walpole again, if it be not profanity) 
is converted into a dormitory. Truly, 
as Bishop de Bury says, " all things 
pass away with time," but the wit 
and genius she embodied in her 
charming letters are eternal. 

'In one of the upper stories of a 

house in the Rue St. Honore lived 
Joubert, the Coleridge of France. 
His keeping-room was flooded with 
the light he loved, and from it, as he 
said, he saw a great deal of sky and 
very little earth. There he passed 
his clays among the books he had 
collected. He rigorously excluded 
from his library all the books he dis- 
approved of; unwilling, as he said, to 
admit an unworthy friend to his con- 
stant companionship. To this room 
he attracted a brilliant circle of con- 
spicuous authors and statesmen by 
his conversational talents, and there 
he wrote his immortal Perishes. He 
said he left Paris unwillingly, because 
then he had to part from his friends ; 
and he left the country unwillingly, 
because he had to part from himself. 
Writing from that sunny room, he 
says : " In many things, I am like the 
butterfly ; like him, I love the light ; 
like him, I there consume my life ; 
like him, I need, in order to spread 
my wings, that there be fair weather 
around me in society, and that my 
mind feel itself surrounded and as if 
penetrated by the mild temperature of 
indulgence." But he wrote graver 
and more profound things there. 
One of his friends said of him that 
he seemed to be a soul that by acci- 
dent had met with a body, and was 
trying to make the best of it. And 
he, ever indulgent to the faults of 
others, said of his friends, " When 
they are blind of one eye, I look at 
them in profile." 

The Abbaye aux Bois is interesting 
from its association with Madame 
Recamier and her circle. Her rooms 
were in the third story and paved 
with tiles, and they overlooked the 
pleasant garden of the monastery, 
and, when lit up with wit and genius, 
they needed no other attraction. 
Among her visitors there were Sir 
Humphry Davy, Maria Edgeworth, 
Humboldt, Lamartine, Delphine 



Gay, Chateaubriand, etc. They 
must have been like the gods, speak- 
ing from peak to peak all around 
Olympus. Lamartine read his Me- 
ditations there before they were given 
to the public. Chateaubriand thus 
speaks of the room : " The windows 
overlooked the garden of the abbey, 
under the verdant shade of which the 
nuns paced up and down, and the 
pupils played. The top of an acacia 
was on a level with the eye, sharp 
spires pierced the sky, and in the dis- 
tance rose the hills of Sevres. The 
rays of the setting sun threw a golden 
light over the landscape and came in 
through the open windows. Some 
birds were settling themselves for the 
night on the top of the window- 
blinds. Here I found silence and 
solitude, far above the tumult and 
turmoil of a great city." 

To the church of the abbey, a plain, 
unpretending structure, Eugenie de 
Guerin went every day to Mass during 
her first visit to Paris. There, too, 
were the bans of her brother Mau- 
rice published, and there he was 

The house of Madame Swetchine, 
in the Rue St. Dominique, must be 
regarded with veneration. There 
was no austerity about the salon of 
this remarkable woman. It was 
adorned with pictures, bronzes, and 
flowers, and in the evening it was 
illuminated with a profusion of lamps 
and candles, giving it a festive air. 
And then the great lights of the 
church, always diffusing their radi- 
ance and aroma in that favored room, 
Lacordaire, De Ravignan, Dupan- 
loup, De la Bouillerie, etc. To have 
found one's self among them must 
have seemed like being among the 
prophets on Mount Carmel. They all 
loved to officiate and preach in her 
beautiful private chapel, which was 
adorned with a multitude of precious 
stones from the Russian mines, 

gleaming around the ineffable pres- 
ence of the Divinity. Mary, too, 
was there. On the base of her silver 
statue was her monogram in dia- 
monds, which Madame Swetchine 
had worn as maid of honor to the 
Empress Mary of Russia. 

These circles, and many others I 
could recall, are now broken up for 
ever. We have all heard and read so 
much of those who composed them 
that they seem like personal friends. 
We linger around the places to which 
they imparted a certain sacredness, 
and follow them in thought to the 
world of mystery and eternal reunion, 
thanking God that the great gulf 
from the finite to the infinite has 
been bridged over by the Incarnation. 

One morning, I went to the church 
of the Carmelites. A tablet on the 
wall points out the spot where the heart 
of Monseigneur Affre was deposited 
the heart of him who gave his life 
for his flock. Around it were sus- 
pended some wreaths. On one, of 
immortelles, was painted, in black let- 
ters, A mon fere, the offering of one 
of his spiritual -children. Wishing to 
have some objects of devotion bless- 
ed, I went into the sacristy (I re- 
membered Eugenie de Guerin speaks 
of going into that sacristy), where I 
found one of the monks prostrate in 
prayer, making his thanksgiving af- 
ter Mass. Enveloped in his habit. 
his bald head covered by a cowl, he 
looked like a ghost from the dark 
ages. Not venturing to approach 
the ghostly father, I made known 
my errand to a good-natured-looking 
lay brother, who conveyed it to that 
part of the cowl where the right ear 
of the monk might reasonably be 
supposed to be, which brought back 
the holy man to earth, causing me 
some compunction of conscience. 
The brother spread out my articles, 
brought the ritual and the stole, and 
the father, throwing back his cowl, 



murmured over them the prayers of 
holy church, and then disappeared 
into the monastery. Presently I 
heard the voices of the monks say- 
ing the office, which they do, like 
nuns, in choir and behind a curtain- 
ed grate, so they are not seen from 
the church. 

This monastery may be compared 
to the Roman amphitheatre where 
the early Christians were thrown to 
the wild beasts. Here indeed was 
fought the good fight, and the vic- 
tors rose to heaven with palms in 
their hands. I know of nothing 
more sublime and thrilling in the 
annals of the church than the mas- 
sacre of about two hundred priests 
that took place here on the second 
of September, 1792. I cannot re- 
frain from giving a condensed ac- 
count of it by one of the writers of 
the day : " For some weeks there 
had been assembled and heaped to- 
gether two hundred priests, who had 
refused to take the schismatic oath, 
or had nobly recanted it. During 
the first day of their incarceration, 
these loyal priests had been inhu- 
manly imprisoned in the church. 
The guards in their midst watched 
to prevent their having the consola- 
tion of even speaking to each other. 
Their only nourishment was bread 
and water. The stone floor was their 
bed. It was only later that a few 
were permitted to have straw beds. % 
These priests, whom martyrdom was 
to render immortal, had at their head 
three prelates whose virtues recall 
the primitive days of the church. 
Their chief was the Archbishop of 
Aries, Monseigneur du Lau. He had 
been deputed to the states-general; 
his piety equalled his knowledge; 
and his humility even surpassed his 
merit. The day after the memorable 
roth of August he had been sent to 
the Carmelite monastery (then con- 
verted into a prison) with sixty- two 

other priests. Notwithstanding his 
age (he was over eighty) and his in- 
firmities, he refused all indulgences 
that were not also extended to his 
brother-captives. For several days 
a wooden arm-chair was his bed as 
well as his pontifical throne. Thence 
his persuasive words instilled into 
those around him the sentiments of 
ineffable charity that filled his own 
heart, and when his exhausted voice 
could no longer make itself heard, 
his very appearance expressed a sub- 
lime resignation. 

" Two other bishops, brothers, bear- 
ing the name of De la Rochefou- 
cauld, one the Bishop of Beauvais, 
and the other of Saintes, also en- 
couraged their companions in misfor- 
tune by their words and by their ex- 
ample. The Bishop of Saintes had 
not been arrested, but, wishing to join 
his brother, he made himself a pri- 
soner. There were members of 
every rank in the ecclesiastical hie- 
rarchy : M. Hebert, the confessor 
of the king who wrote to him 
at the beginning of August, ' I ex- 
pect nothing more from man, bring 
me therefore the consolations of hea- 
ven ;' the general of the Benedic- 
tines, the Abbe de Lubusac, several 
of the cures of Paris, Mr. Gros, call- 
ed the modern Vincent of Paul, and 
priests brought from various places, 
holy victims whom the God of Cal- 
vary had chosen to associate with his 
sufferings, and judged worthy of the 
most glorious of all deaths that of 

" For more than two clays, the 
wretches who hovered around their 
enclosure had filled the air with cries 
of blood, and predicting that the sa- 
crifice was about to take place. One 
said to the Archbishop of Aries : ' My 
lord, on the morrow your grace is to 
be killed.' These derisive insults re- 
called to the holy captives the judg- 
ment-hall of their divine Master, 



and like him they bore them in si- 
lence, forgiving and praying for their 

" On the second of September they 
could no longer doubt that their last 
hour had arrived. The hurried move- 
ments of the troops, the cries in the 
neighboring streets, and the alarm- 
guns they heard made them some- 
what aware of the sinister events that 
were passing without. At the dawn 
of day they had gathered together 
in the church. They made their 
confessions to each other, they bless- 
ed one another, and partook of the 
Holy Eucharist. They were singing 
the Benediction together at about 
five in the evening when the omin- 
ous cries came nearer. Then two 
holy hymns succeeded the prayers 
for the dying. All at once the jailers 
entered, and began calling the roll, 
which already had been done three 
times that day. The prisoners were 
then ordered into the garden, which 
they found occupied by guards arm- 
ed with pikes and wearing the bonnet 
rouge. The murderers filled the 
courts, the halls, and the church, 
making the venerable arches re-echo 
to the noise of their weapons and 
their blasphemies. The priests, one 
hundred and eighty-five in number, 
were divided into two groups. About 
thirty, among whom were the bi- 
shops, rushed toward a little oratory 
at the extremity of the garden, where 
they threw themselves upon their 
knees, recommending themselves to 
God. They embraced each other for 
the last time, and began saying the 
vespers for the dead, when sudden- 
ly the gates were flung open, and the 
assassins rushed in from various direc- 

"The sight of these holy priests 
upon their knees arrested their fury 
for an instant. The first who fell 
under their blows was Father Gerault, 
who was reciting his breviary regard- 

less of their cries. That breviary, 
pierced with a ball and stained with 
blood, was discovered on the spot at 
the restoration of the Carmelites, and 
it is preserved as a precious relic. 
Then the Archbishop of Aries was 
demanded. While they were seek- 
ing him through the alleys, he was 
exhorting his companions to offer to 
God the sacrifice of their lives. 
Hearing his name called, he knelt 
down, and asked the most aged of 
the priests to give him absolution; 
then, rising, he advanced to meet the 
assassins. With his arms crossed 
upon his breast and his eyes raised 
toward heaven, he uttered in a calm 
voice the same words his divine Mas- 
ter addressed to his enemies : " I am 
he whom you seek." The first stroke 
of the sword was upon his forehead, 
but the venerable man remained 
standing ; a second made the blood 
flow in torrents, but still he did not 
fall ; the fifth laid him on the ground, 
when a pike was driven through his 
heart. Then he was trampled under 
the feet of the assassins, who ex- 
claimed, ' Vive la nation !' 

" The general massacre then ensued. 
While the unfortunate priests, with 
the instinct of self-preservation, were 
flying at random through the garden, 
some screening themselves behind 
the hedges and others climbing the 
trees, the murderers fired at them, 
and, when one of them fell, they 
would rush upon his body, prolong 
his agony, and exult over his suffer- 
ings. About forty perished in this 
manner. Some of the younger 
priests succeeded in scaling the walls 
and hiding themselves; but, remem- 
bering they were flying from martyr- 
dom and that their escape might ex- 
cite greater fury against their com- 
panions, they retraced their steps 
and received their reward! The 
Bishop of Beauvais and kis brother 
were in the garden oratory with thir- 

4 6 


ty priests. A grating separated 
them from the murderers, who fired 
upon them, killing the greater num- 
ber. The Bishop of Beauvais was 
not touched, but his brother had a 
leg broken by a ball. 

" For an instant this horrid butchery 
was suspended. One of the leaders 
ordered all the priests into the church, 
whither they were driven even the 
wounded and dying at the sword's 
point. There they gathered around 
the altar, offering anew to their Savi- 
our the sacrifice of their lives, whilst 
their executioners, calling them out 
two by two, finished their butchery 
more promptly and completely. To 
each one life was offered on condition 
of taking the revolutionary oath. They 
all refused, and not one escaped. 
Whilst these assassins added blas- 
phemous shouts to their murderous 
strokes, whilst they demolished the 
crosses and the tabernacles, the holy 
phalanx of priests, which death was 
every moment lessening, kept pray- 
ing for their murderers and their 
country. The two bishops were 
among the last executed. When 
it came to the turn of the Bishop 
of Beauvais, he left the altar upon 
which he had been leaning, and calm- 
ly advanced to meet his death. His 
brother, whose wound prevented his 
walking, asked for assistance, and 
was carried out to his execution. It 
was eight in the evening when the 
last execution took place. Over four 
hundred priests were massacred in 
different parts of Paris at this period, 
besides many isolated murders." 

The constancy of these martyrs 
has made many do more than ex- 
claim with Horace Walpole : " Al- 
most thou persuadest me to be a 
Catholic!" He says, in a letter 
dated October 14, 1792: "For the 
French priests, I own I honor them. 
They preferred beggary to perjury, 
and have died or fled to preserve the 

integrity of their consciences. It cer- 
tainly was not the French clergy but 
the philosophers that have trained up 
their countrymen to be the most 
bloody men upon earth." 

I n 1 854, this monastery, where flow- 
ed the blood of martyrs and which had 
echoed with their dying groans, re- 
sounded with the strains of O Salu- 
taris Hostia ! on the festival of Cor- 
pus Christi, and priests bore the di- 
vine Host through the alleys of the 
garden where, sixty years before, had 
rushed those who were swift to shed 
blood. An altar had been erected 
under the yew-tree where the Arch- 
bishop of Aries fell. Children scat- 
tered flowers over the place once 
covered with blood. Well might the 
pale-lipped clergy tearfully chant in 
such a spot : 


Every age has its martyrs. They 
are the glory of the church, and their 
blood is its seed. The church must 
ever suffer with its divine spouse. 
Sometimes its head the Vicar of 
Christ is crowned with thorns ; 
sometime^ its heart bleeds from a 
thrust in the very house of its 
friends; and, again, its feet and 
hands are nailed in the extremities 
of the earth. 

And every follower -of Christ cruci- 
fied has his martyrdom a martyr- 
dom of the soul, if not of the body. 
The sacred stigmata are imprinted 
on every soul, that embraces the 
cross, and no one can look upon him 
who hangs thereon, with the eyes of 
faith, without catching something of 
his resemblance. Suffering is now, 
as when he was on earth, the glorious 
penalty of those who approach the 
nearest to his Divine Person. 

" Three saints of old their lips upon the Incarnate 
Saviour laid, 

And each with death or agony for the high rap- 
ture paid. 

Sor Juana Incs dc la Cruz. 


His mother's holy kisses of the coming sword With homage of a broken heart his pierced and 

gave sign, 

lifeless feet. 

And Simeon's hymn full closely did with his last The crown of thorns, the Heavy cross, the nails 

breath entwine 

and bleeding brows, 

And Magdalen's first tearful touch prepared her The pale and dying lips, are the portion of the 

but to greet 



So little is known of Spanish 
American literature that any fresh 
report from its pages seems to have 
the nature of a revelation. ' Our 
acquaintance with Heredia, Placido, 
Milanes, Mendive, Carpio, Pesado, 
Galvan, Calderon, is slight or naught ; 
yet these poets are most interesting 
on account of the countries, peoples, 
and causes for which they speak elo- 
quently, even if we deny that they 
add greatly to the genuine substance 
of our literary possession. Less 
question, however, can be entertained 
of the importance of some older 
names whose fame made for itself a 
refuge in the Spanish churches and 
cloisters of the New World long be- 
fore revolutionists took to shooting 
the Muses on the wing. In the 
seventeenth century lived and wrought 
Cabrera, Siguenza, and Sor or Sister 
Juana Ines. They belonged to a 
country which claimed for awhile as 
its scholars, though not as its natives, 
Doctor Valbuena, author of the very 
well-known epical fantasy called The 
Bernardo, and Mateo Alaman, who 
wrote the famous story of Guzman de 
Alfarache, Juan Ruiz de Alarcon, 
one of the most remarkable dramatic 
poets of a great dramatic age, was a 
native of that same country, Mexico. 
Siguenza, as mathematician, historian, 
antiquary, and poet, has been well es- 
teemed by Humboldt and the scho- 
lars of his own race. It is much to 

say that the land which produced an 
artist as great as Cabrera also gave 
birth to a scholar and poet as re- 
nowned in her day and as apprecia- 
ble in ours as Sor Juana Ines de la 
Cruz. Among all these celebrities, 
who would have been eminent in 
any time among any people, this 
Mexican nun of the seventeenth cen- 
tury holds a place of her own. 
Looking back upon the past with all 
our modern light, we cannot but re- 
gard her as one of the most admira- 
ble characters of the New World. 

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz was 
born at San Miguel de Nepantla, 
twelve leagues from the city of 
Mexico, in the year 1651, and died 
at the age of forty -four. When but 
three years old, she was able to read, 
write, and " cipher," and at eight 
she wrote a prologue for the feast of 
the Holy Sacrament. Once she cut 
her hair, and would not allow it to 
grow till she had acquired the learn- 
ing she proposed to herself, seeing 
no reason why a head should be 
covered with hair that was denuded 
of knowledge, its best ornament. 
After twenty lessons, it was said, she 
knew Latin, and so great was her de- 
sire to learn that she importuned her 
parents to send her to the University 
of Mexico in boy's clothes. When 
seventeen years of age, and a cherish- 
ed inmate of the Viceroy Mancera's 
family, she amazed a large company 


Sor J uana Incs dc la Cruz. 

of the professors and scholars of the 
capital by tests of her various erudi- 
tion and abilities. Notwithstanding 
her beauty and fortune, her rank and 
accomplishments, and the life of a 
gallant and brilliant court, she deter- 
mined at that early age to retire to a 
cloister, and in a few years became 
known as Sor Juana of San Geronimo, 
a convent of the city of Mexico. 
After this appeared her poems, The 
Crisis and The Dream, in the latter 
of which she writes much of mytho- 
logy, physics, medicine, and history, 
according to the scholastic manner of 
her time. With these and her subse- 
quent poetic writings, such as her 
sonnets, loas, romances, and autos, 
she had rare fame, and won from 
some of her admirers the enthusiastic 
titles of " The Phoenix of Mexico," 
" Tenth Muse," and " Poetess of Amer- 
ica." The writer has an old volume 
before him bearing literally this title- 
page : " Fama, y Obras Posthumas 
del Fenix de Mexico, y Dezima Musa, 
Poetisa de la America, Sor Juana 
Ines de la Cruz, Religiosa Professa 
en el Convento de San Geronimo, de 
la Imperial Ciudad de Mexico. Re- 
cogidas y dadas a luz por el Doc- 
tor Don Juan Ignacio de Castorena 
y Ursua, Capellan de Honor de su 
Magestad, y Prebendado de la Santa 
Iglesia Metropolitana de Mexico. En 
Barcelona : Por Rafael Figuero. 
Afio de MDCCI. Con todas las 
licencias necessarias." Thus it ap- 
pears we owe to the Prebendary Cas- 
torena the edition of the posthumous 
works of Sor Juana given to the light 
in 1701, six years after her death. 

But, whether as the sister or the 
mother of a convent, Juana Ines de 
la Cruz was more than a mistress of 
vain learning or unprofitable science. 
Her daily assiduous exercise was 
charity, which at last so controlled 
her life and thoughts that she gave 
all her musical and mathematical in- 

struments, all the rich presents which 
her talents had attracted from illus- 
trious people, and all her books, ex- 
cepting those she left to her sisters, 
to be sold for the benefit of the poor. 
Though she had evidently prized 
science as the handmaid of religion, 
the time came when her verses upon 
the vanity of learning reflected a 
mind more and more withdrawn from 
the affairs of this world to the con- 
templation of the next. When an 
epidemic visited the Convent of San 
Geronimo, and but two out of every 
ten invalids were saved, the good, 
brave soul of Madre Juana shone 
transcendently. Spite of warnings 
and petitions, and though all the city 
prayed for her life, Madre Juana 
perished at her vigil of charity the 
good angel as well as muse of 

Of the enthusiasm created by her 
genius, we have abundant and curi- 
ous proofs. Don Alonzo Muxica, 
"perpetual Recorder of the City of Sa- 
lamanca," wrote a sonnet upon her 
having learned to read at the age of 
three, when " what for all is but the 
break of morn in her was as the mid- 
dle of the day." Excelentissimo Sir 
Felix Fernandez de Cordova Cor- 
dona y Aragon, Duke of Seffa, of 
Vnena and Soma, Count of Cabra, 
Palomas, and Olivitas, and Grand 
Admiral and Captain- General of Na- 
ples, speaks of her in a lofty poetic 
encomium as for the third time ap- 
plauded by two admiring worlds of 
readers, and praises her persuasive 
voice as that of a sweet siren of 
thought. Don Garcia Ribadeneyra, 
with the grandiose wit of his day, says 
in a decima that this extraordinary 
woman surpassed the sun, for her 
glorious genius rose where the sun 
set, that is to say, in the West ; and 
Don Pedro Alfonso Moreno argues 
piously that St. John the Baptist's 
three crowns of Virgin, Martyr, and 

Sor Juana Incs de la Cruz. 


Doctor were in measure those of 
Madre Juana. who was from early- 
years chaste, poor in spirit, and obe- 
dient, according to the vow of reli- 
gious women. Don Luis Verdejo 
declares that she transferred the ly- 
ceums of the Muses to Mexico, and 
that the light of her genius is poured 
upon two worlds. Padre Cabrera, 
chaplain of the Most Excellent Duke 
of Arcos, asserts that the Eternal 
Knowledge enlightened Juana in all 
learning. " Only her fame can de- 
fine her," writes one of her own sex; 
and when the Poetess of the Cloister 
wrote with her own blood a protesta- 
tion of faith, it was said of this " Swan 
of erudite plume " that she wrote like 
the martyr to whose ink of blood the 
earth was as paper. Her gift of 
books to be sold in order to relieve 
the poor inspired Senora Catalina de 
Fernandez de Cordova, nun in the 
Convent of the Holy Ghost in Alcara, 
to say thus thoughtfully : 

" Without her books did Juana grow more wise, 
As for their loss she studied deep content. 
Know. then, that in this human school of ours v 
He only is wise who knows to love his God." 

At thought of her death, Don 
Luis Mufioz Venegas, of Granada, 
wonders that the sun shines, that 
ships sail, that earth is fair, that all 
things do not grieve her loss, whose 
happy soul in its beatitudes enjoys 
the riches of which death has robbed 
the world sweetness, purity, felicity. 
Fray Juan de Rueda, professor of 
theology in the college of San Pablo ; 
Licentiate Villalobos of San Ildefon- 
so, and Senor Guerra, fellow of the 
same college; Advocate Pimienta, of 
the Royal Audience, and Bachelor 
fOlivas, a presbyter; Syndic Torres, 
Catedratico or Professor Aviles, Cava- 
lier Ulloa, have all something to say 
in Spanish or Latin on the death of 
our poetess. Doctor Aviles imagines 
the death of Sor Juana to be like that 


of the rose, which, having acquired in 
a brief age all its perfection, needed 
not to live longer. Don Diego Mar- 
tinez suggests beautifully that the pro- 
fit which other excellent minds will 
derive from the posthumous writings 
of the poetess will be like the clear- 
ness which the stars gain by the death 
of the sun. Mingled with these hon- 
est tributes of admiration is much ex- 
travagance of comparison ; but they 
prove at least that Sor Juana was re- 
garded by the learned of her day as 
a woman of astonishing powers. 

Amid all her studies and labors, 
we read that Sister Juana was con- 
stant in her religious devotions, and 
faithful to the least rules of her order. 
But her conscientious spirit, moved 
by a letter of Bishop Fernandez of 
Puebla, determined her at length to 
renounce the exercise of her talents 
for the strictest and purest ascetism. 
Hence, one of her Mexican critics is 
led to say that we have only the 
echoes of her songs, only the shades 
of her images, inasmuch as her sex 
and state, and the reigning scholas- 
ticism, were net convenient for the 
true expression of her thoughts. The 
noble, ascetic literature of Spain, re- 
specting which it is with reason boast- 
ed that the world contains nothing 
of the kind more valuable, discredits 
in good part this supposition. More- 
over, the recognition of Sor Juana's 
work and genius was, as we have seen, 
not inconsiderable. The world is still 
in its infancy as regards religious ide- 
ality, and, spite of the highest evi- 
dences, often refuses to believe that 
thoughts fed from the divin source 
can fulfil the true poem of 1L ., be it 
written or acted. What the thoughts 
of Sor Juana were like in her ordi- 
nary religious life we understand part- 
ly from a number of daily exercises 
and meditations which have come 
do\vn to us. Here are specimens of 
these compositions : 

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz. 

On this day, at seeing the light come 
forth, bless its Author who made it so 
beautiful a creation, and praise him with 
a submissive heart ; not only because he 
created it for our good, but because he 
made it a vassal to his mother and our 
mediatrix. Go to Mass with all possible 
devotion, and those who can, let them fast 
and give thanks to God. Thou shalt sing 
the canticle Benedicite omnia opera Domini 
Pomino and the verse Benedicite lux. Un- 
deistand that not only the just ought to 
praise God, who are themselves as light, 
but the sinners who are as darkness. 
Consider yourselves such, every one of 
you, and mourn for having added to the 
original 'transgression, darkness upon 
darkness, sins upon sins. Resolve to 
correct thyself; and that Mary's purest 
light may reach you, recite a Salve, and 
nine times the Magnificat, face to the 
ground, and fly from all sin this day, even 
the shadow thereof. Abstain from all im- 
patience, murmurings, repinings, and suf- 
fer with meekness those evils which are a 
repugnance to our nature. If it be a day 
of discipline of the community, that is 
enough, but if not, it shall be especially 
made so. Those who do not know 
how to read Latin shall recite nine 
Salves mouth to the ground, and shall 
fast if they are able, and if not, they 
shall make an act of contrition, so that 
the Lord may give them light for his time- 
ly service, even as he gave them material 
light by which to live. 


If we look at the properties of the fir- 
mament, what more assimilates to the 
miraculous constancy of Mary, whom 
neither those steeped in original sin could 
make fall, nor the combats of temptation 
make stumble ! But still, amid the tor- 
rents and tempests of human miseries, 
between the troubles of her life, and the 
painful passion and death of her most 
holy Son and our most beloved Saviour; 
amid the waves of incredulity in the 
doubts of his disciples ; among the hid- 
den rocks of the perfidy of Judas, and the 
uncertainty of so many timid souls ever 
was her constancy preserved. Not only 
was she firm, but beautiful as the firma- 
ment, which (according to the mathema- 
ticians) hath this other excellence, that 
it is bordered by innumerable stars, but 
has only seven planets which are fixed 
and never move. Thus, holiest Mary 

was not only most pure in her concep- 
tion, transparent and translucent, but af- 
terwards the Lord adorned her with in- 
numerable virtues which she acquired, 
even as tho stars which border that most 
beautiful firmament; and she not only 
had them all, but had them fixed, all im- 
movable, all in order and admirable 
concert : but if in the other children of 
Adam we see some virtues, they are er- 
rant to-day we have them, to-morrow 
they are gone to-day is light, to morrow 
darkness. We will rejoice in her pre- 
rogative, and say unto her : 


Honored Lady, and crown of our hu- 
man being, divine firmament where the 
stars of virtue are fixed, give their benign 
influence to us, thy devoted ones, that by 
thy favor we may cure ourselves and ac- 
quire them ; and that light which thou 
dost partake of the Sun of Righteousness, 
communicate it to our souls, and fix in 
them thy virtues, the love of thy precious 
Son, and thy sweetest and tenderest de- 
votion, and of thy happy husband, our 
patron and advocate, St. Joseph. 

These compositions doubtless give 
iis a better idea of the interior thought 
of Mexican monasticism than some 
yellow-covered speculations. In that 
life grew the finest genius, the great- 
est woman, perhaps the most re- 
markable character in all respects 
that Mexico ever produced. Con- 
sidering the time and place in which 
she wrote, the New World has scarce- 
ly produced her superior among wo- 
men of genius. Up to the nineteenth 
century America had, doubtless, no 
literary product comparable to the 
poems of Sor Juana Ines. What Ca- 
brera, was to the art, Sor Juana seems 
to have been to the literature of her 
country; and both these workers of 
genius gave their powers to the ser- 
vice of religion. It is here worthy 
of remark that not only were the 
greatest painter and poet of Mexico 
studious servants of the church, but 
that its most celebrated scientist was 
the Jesuit Siguenza y Gongora, au- 
thor of a funeral eulogy of Sor Juana 

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz. 

Ines, whom he knew and appreciat- 
ed, for he, too, was a poet. Without 
social helps, without emulation, such 
as is ordinarily understood, such 
proofs of her high intelligence as we 
possess have come to light. Per- 
plexed as it was with the mannered 
erudition of the schools, her poetry 
nevertheless reveals noble sensibility 
and thought in superior forms. Thus 
she sings in her verses entitled " Sen- 
timents of Absence :" 

" Hear me with eyes, 
Now that so distant are thine ears ; 
Of absence my laments ; 
In echoes from my pen the groans ; 
And as can reach thee not my voice so rude, 
Hear thou me deaf, since dumbly I complain." 

This is like a voice of the Eliza- 
bethan age; but what woman even 
of that day has left us so rare a re- 
cord of poetry and piety combined 
as the nun of San Geronimo, she 
who lived in 1670 in far-off, outlan- 
dish Mexico ? What chapter of lite- 
rature would seem too good to en- 
tertain this Tenth Muse, to whom we 
owe such sonnets as these : 


If pencil, although grand in human wise. 
Could make a picture thus most beautiful, 
Where even clearest vision not refines 
Thy light, O admirable yet in vain : 
How did the author of thy sovereign soul 
Proportion space to his creation fair ! 
What grace he painted, and what loveliness ! 
The scope more ample, greater was the hand. 
Was found within the sphere of purest light 
The pencil, schooled within the morning-star, 
When thou wert dawned, Aurora most divine ? 
Yea, thus indeed it was; but verily 
The sky has not paid back thy cost to him 
Who spent in thee more light than it has now. 


Feliciano loves me, and I hate him : 
Lizardo hates me, and I do adore him; 

For him who does not want me, do I cry, 
And him who yearns for me, I not desire. 
To him who me disdains, my soul I offer, 
And him who is my victim, 1 disdain. 
Him I despise who would enrich my honor, 
And him who doth contemn me, I'd enrich. 
If with offence the first I have displeased, 
The other doth displease by me offended 
And thus I come to suffer every way ; 
For both are but as torments to my feelings 
This one with asking that which 1 have not, 
And that in not having what I'd ask. 


Celia beheld a rose that in the walk 
Flourished in pride of springtime loveliness, 
And whose bright hues of carmine or of red 
Bathed joyfully its delicate countenance 
And said: Enjoy without the fear of fate 
The fleeting course of thy luxuriant age, 
Since will not death be able on the morrow. 
To take from thee what thou to-day enjoyest; 
And though he come within a little while, 
Still grieve thou not to die so young and fair: 
Hear what experience may counsel thee 
That fortunate 'tis to die being beautiful, 
And not to see the woe of being old. 

This that thou seest, a deception painted, 
W r hich of art's excellence makes display, 
With curious counterfeit of coloring, 
Is an insidious cheating of the sense. 
This, wherewithin has flattery pretended 
To excuse the grim deformity of age, 
And vanquishing the rigor hard of time 
To triumph o'er oblivion and decay ; 
Is but the shallow artifice of care, 
Is as a fragile flower within the wind ; 
It is a useless guard 'gainst destiny ; 
It is a foolish and an erring toil ; 
'Tis labor imbecile, and, rightly scanned. 
Is death, is dust, is Shadow, and is naught. 

These rude translations give but a 
poor idea of the poet's expression, 
but they allow the height and quality 
of her intellect to be understood. In 
one of her most thoughtful poems, 
the Romance on the Vanity of Science, 
she argues against self-seeking know- 
ledge, and the perils to which genius 
exposes itself by too much seeking 
its own devices. This poem is so re- 
presentative and remarkable that we 
must give it entire quotation : 


Finjamos que soy feliz, 
Triste pensamiento un rato ; 
Quizd podreis persuadirme, 
Aunque y'o s lo contrario. 

Que, pues solo en la aprension 
Dicen que estriban los dafios ; 
Si os imaginais dichoso. 
No sereis tan desdichado. 

Feign we that I am happy, 
Sad thought, a little while, 

For, though 'twere but dissembling, 
Would thou couldst me beguile ! 

Yet since but in our terrors 
They say our miseries grow, 

If joy we can imagine, 
The less will seem our woe. 

Sirvame el entendimiento 
Alguna vez de descanso ; 
Y no siempre estd el ingenio 
Con el provecho encontrado. 

Todo el mundo es opiniones, 
De paraceres tan varies, 
Oue lo que el uno, que es negro, 
El otro prueba que es bianco. 

A unos sirve de atractivo 
Lo que otro concibe enfado; 
Y lo que este por alivio 
Aquel tiene por trabajo. 

El que esta triste, censura 
Al alegre de liviano ; 
Y el que esta alegre, se burla, 
De ver al triste penando. 

Los dos filosofos griegos 
Bien esta verdad probaron, 
Hues, lo que en el uno risa, 
Causaba, en el otro llanto. 

Celebre su oposicion 
Ha sido, por siglos tantos. 
Sin que cual acerto, est^ 
Hasta agora averiguado. 

Antes en sus dos banderas 
El mundo todo alistado, 
Conforme el humor le dicta, 
Sigue cada cual su bando. 

Uno dice, que de risa 
Solo es digno el mundo vario ; 
Y otro, que sus infortunios 
Son solo para llorarlos. 

Para todo se halla prueba 
Y razon en que fundarlo ; 
Y no hay raron para nada, 
De haber razon para tanto. 

Todos son iguales jueces 
Y siendo iguales, y varios. 
No hay quien pueda decidir 
Ciial es lo mas acertado. 

< Pues sino hay quien lo sentencie, 
Por qud pensais vos, errado, 
O,ue os cometi6 Dios a vos 
La decision de los casos? 

i O por que, contra vos mismo, 
Severamente inhumano, 
Entre lo amargo, y lo dulce 
Quereis elegir lo amargo? 

4 Si es mio mi entendimiento, 
Por qud siempre he de encontrarlo 
Tan torpe para el alivio, 
Tan agudo para el dano? 

El discurso es un acero 
Que sirve por ambos cabos ; 
De dar muerte por la punta, 
Por el porno de resguardo. 

i Si vos sabiendo el peligro 

Buereis por la punta usarlo, 
ue culpa tiene el acero 
Del mal uso de la mano ? 

Must our intelligences 

Some time of quiet find ; 
Not always may our genius 

With profit rule the mind. 

The world's full of opinions, 
And these so different quite, 

That what to one black seemeth 
Another proves is white. 

To some appears attractive 

What many deem a bore ; 
And that which thee delighted 

Thy fellow labors o'er. 

He who is sad condemneth 
The gay one's gleeful tones; 

He who is merry jesteth 
Whene'er the sad one groans. 

By two old Greek wiseacres 
This truth well proved appears ; 

Since what in one caused laughter, 
The other moved to tears. 

Renownei has been this contest 

For ages, without fruit, 
And what one age asserted 

Till now is in dispute. 

Into two lists divided 
The world's opinions stand. 

And as his humor leads him 
Follows each one his band. 

One says the world is worthy 

Only of merriment ; 
Another, its distresses 

Call for our loud lament. 

For all opinions various 

Some proof or reason's brought, 
And for so much there's reason 

That reason is for naught. 

All, all are equal judges, 
And all of different view, 

And none can make decision 
Of what is best or true. 

Then since can none determine, 
Think'st thou, whose reason strays, 

To thee hath God committed 
The judgment of the case ? 

O why, to thyself cruel, 
Dost thou thy peace reject? 

Between the sweet and bitter, 
The bitter dost elect? 

If 'tis mine my understanding, 

Why always must it be 
So dull and slow to pleasure, 

So keen for injury ? 

A sharp blade is our learning 
Which serves us at both ends: 

Death by the point it giveth, 
By the handle, it defends. 

And if, aware of peril, 
Its point thou wilt demand, 

How canst thou blame the weapon 
For the folly of thy hand ? 

Sor Juana Incs de la Cru.z. 


No es saber, saber hacer 
Discursos sutiles, vanos, 
Que el saber consiste solo 
En elegir lo mas sano. 

Especular las desdichas, 
Y examinar los presagios. 
Solo sirve de que el mal 
Crezca con anticiparlo. 

En los trabajos futuros 
La atencion sutilizando, 
Mas formidable que el riesgo 
Suele fingir el amago. 

; Que feliz es la ignorancia 
Del que indoctamcnte sabio, 
Halla de lo que podece 
En lo que ignora sagrado ! 

No siempre suben seguros 
Vuelos del ingenio osados, 
Que bu can trono en ( 1 fuego, 
Y hallan sepulcro en el llanto. 

Tambien es vicio el saber 
Que si no se va atajando, 
Cuanto menos se conoce 
Es mas nocivo el estrago. 

Y si vuelo no le abaten 
En sutilezas cebado, 
Por cuidar de lo cuiioso 
Olvida lo necesario. 

Si culta mano no impide 
Crecer al arbol copado, 
Quitan la sustancia al fruto 
La locura de los ramos. 

i Si andar a nave ligera, 
No estorba lastre pesado ; 
Sirve el vuelo de que sea 
El precipicio mas alto? 

En amenidad inutil, 
Que importa al florido campo, 
Si no halla fruto el otono 
Que ostente floras el mayo. 

< De que le sirve al ingenia 
El producir muchos partos, 
Si a It multitud le sigue 
El malogro de abortarlo ? 

Ya esta desdicha, por fuerza 
Ha de seguirle el fracaso 
De quedar el que produce. 
Si no muerto, lasiimado. 

El ingenio cs como el fuego, 
Que con la materia ingrato, 
Tanto la consume mas, 
Cuanto el se ostenta mas claro. 

Es de su proprio sefior 
Tan rebelado vasallo, 
Que convierte en sus ofensas 
Las armas de su resguardo. 

Este pesimo ejercicio, 
Este duro afan pesado, 
A los hijos de los hombres 
Di6 Dios para ejercitarlos. 

Not is true wisdom knowing 
Most subtle speech and vain ; 

Best knowledge is in choosing 
That which is safe and sane. 

To speculate disaster, 

To seek for presages. 
Serves to increase affliction, 

Anticipates distress. 

In the troubles of the future 

The anxious mind is lost. 
And more than any danger 

Doth danger's menace cost. 

Of him the unschooled wise man 
How happy is the chance ! 

He finds from suffering refuge 
In simple ignorance. 

AW always safe at fire 

The wings that genius bears^ 

Which seek a. t krone in fire. 
And find a grave in teart. 

And vicious is the knowledge 

That seeking swift its end 
Is all the more unwary 

Of the woe that doth impend. 

And if its flight it stops not 
In pampered, strange deceits. 

Then for the curious searching 
The needful it defeats. 

If culture's hand not prunelh 

The leafag of the tree, 
Takes from the fruit's sustainmenl 

The rank, wild greenery. 

If all its ballast heavy 
Yon light ship not prevents. 

Will it help the flight of pinions 
Krom nature's battlements? 

In verdant beauty useless. 

What profits the fair field 
If the blooming growths of springtime 

No autumn fruitage yield ? 

And of what use is genius 
With ad its work of might, 

If are its toils rewarded 
By failure and despite ? 

And perforce to this misfortune 
Must tha' despair succeed, 

Which, if its arrow kills not. 
Must make the bosom bleed. 

Like to a fire doth genius 
In thankless matter grow; 

The more that it consumeth, 
It boasts the brighter glow. 

It is of its own master 

So rebellious a slave. 
That to offence it turneth 

The weapons that should sav . 

Tuch exercise distressful, 

Such hard anxiety, 
To all the sad world's chi'dren 

God gave their souls to try. 


Sor Juana Incs de la Cruz. 

i Que loca ambicion nos lleva 
De nosotros olvidados, 
Si cs para vivir tan poco, 
De que sirve saber tanto ? 

Oh ! si como hay de saber, 
Hubiera algun seminario, 
O escuela, donde a ignorar 
Se ensenara los trabajos ! 

; Que felizmente viviera, 
El que flotaraente cauto ; 
Burlara las amenazas 
Del influjo de los astros ! 

Aprendamos a ignorar 
Pensamientos, pues hallamos, 
Que cuanto anado al discurso, 
Tanto le usurpo a los afios. 

What mad ambition takes us 

From self-forgetful state, 
If 'tis to live so little 

We make our knowledge great ? 

Oh ! if we must have knowledge, 
I would there were some school 

Wherein to teach not knowing 
Life's woes, should be the rule. 

Happy shall be his living 
Whose life no rashness mars ; 

He shall laugh at all the threatenings 
Of the magic of the stars ! 

Learn we the wise unknowing. 

Since it so well appears 
That what to learning's added 

Is taken from our years. 

We may dispute, in some respects, 
the drift of Sister Juana's philosophy; 
but we cannot question the poetic 
wisdom of many of her reflections. 
How true it is that in a multitude of 
reasons one finds no reason at all; 
that the rank overgrowth of knowl- 
edge does not bear the best fruit; 
that genius, allied with base sub- 
stance, grows brighter, by a kind of 
self-consuming ; that wisdom can 
sometimes find refuge in ignorance ! 
No one, be his fame what it may, 
has stated a grand and touching 
truth with better force than appears 
in Sor Juana's grave misgiving with 
regard to the genius " which seeks a 
throne in fire, and finds a sepulchre 
in tears." Is not this the history, at 
once sublime and pathetic, of so 
many failures of the restless intellect ? 
Sor Juana knew how to preach from 
such a text, for she was a rare schol- 
ar, and mistress of verse, and religious 
woman. The variety of her literary 
employments was considerable, in 
comparison with the bulk of Mexican 
verse and prose, notwithstanding the 
old-fashioned manners of her clois- 
tered muse. She wrote, in addition 
to sonnets and romances, the dra- 
matic religious pieces called loas 
and autos, among which we find 
dialogues and acts entitled "The 
Sceptre of St. Joseph," " San Her- 

mengildo," and "The Divine Nar- 
ciso." Her poetic moods were not, 
it appears, limited to hymns and to 
blank- verse; indeed, she had the 
qualities of a ripe poet humor, 
fancy, imagination, able thought, 
and, if anything else should be added, 
doubtless the reader will find it in 
the ideality of a sonnet so superb as 
the one in praise of Our Lady. Of 
her religious tenderness we have a 
fine example in the following lines 
from " El Divino Narciso," which 
have been compared by a Mexican 
critic to the best mystical songs of 
St. John of the Cross and other 
Spanish ascetics. They convey the 
appeal which the Shepherd of Souls 
makes to a soul which has strayed 
from the flock : 

my lost lamb, 

Thy master all forgetting, 

Whither dost erring go ? 

Behold how now divided 

From me, thou partest from thy life ! 

In my tender kindness, 

Thou seest how always loving 

1 guard thee watchfully, 
I free thee of all danger, 

And that I give my life for thee. 

Behold how that my beauty 

Is of all things beloved, 

And is of all things sought, 

And by all creatures praised. 

Still dost th&u choose from me to go astray. 

I go to seek thee yet, 

Although thou art as lost ; 

But for thee now my lite 

I cannot still lay down 

That once I wished to lose to find my sheep. 

Sor ^uana Ines de la Cruz. 


Do worthier than thou 

Ask these my benefits, 

The rivers flowing fair, 

The pastures and green glades 

Wherein my loving-kindness feedeth thee. 

Within a barren field, 

In desert land afar, 

I found thee, ere the wolf 

Had all thy life despoiled, 

And prized thee as the apple of mine eye. 

I led thee to the verdure 
Of my most peaceful ways, 
Where thou hast fed at will 
Upon the honey sweet 
And oil that flowed to thee from out the 

With generous crops of grain, 
With marrowy substances, 
I have sustained thy life. 
Made thee most savory food. 
And given to thee the juice of fragrant 

Thou seekest other fields 
With them that did not know 
Thy fathers, honored not 
Thy elders, and in this 
Thou dost excite my own displeasure 

And for that thou hast sinned 
I 11 hide from thee my face, 
Before whose light the sun 
Its feeble glory pales ; 

From thee, ingrate, perverse, and most 
unfaithful one. 

Shall my displeasure's scourge 

Thy verdant fields destroy, 

The herb that gives thee food ; 

And shall my tires lay waste, 

Even from the top of highest mountains old. 

My lightning arrows shall 

Be drawn, and hunger sharp 

Shall cut the threads of life, 

And evil birds of prey 

And fiercest beasts shall lie in wait for thee. 

Shall grovelling serpents show 
The venom of their rage, 
By different ways of death 
My rigors shall be wrought; 
Without thee by the sword, within thee 
by thy fears. 

Behold I am thy Sovereign, 

And there is none more strong; 

That I am life and death, 

That I can slay and save, 

And nothing can escape from out my hand. 

Our last quotation from Sister 
Juana's poems will be one of those 
tributes which, in verse or prose, she 
so often paid to the Blessed Virgin. 
Ij^is a song taken from her villanci- 
cos, or rhymes for festivals. The 
literary manners of her time seem to 
have obscured the native excellence 
of her thought, but the buoyant style 

of the following lines meets with 
little objection from her modern Mex- 
ican critic : 

To her who in triumph, the beautiful queen, 
Descends from the airs of the region serene ; 
To her who illumines its vaguest confine 
With auroras of gold, and of pearl and carmine ; 
To her whom a myriad of voices confessed 
The lady of angels, the queen of the blest: 
Whose tresses celestial are lightly outborne 
And goldenly float in the glory of morn, 
And waving and rising would seek to o'erwhelm 
Like the gulfs of the Tibar an ivory realm : 
From whose graces the sunlight may learn how 

to shine, 
And the stars of the night take a brilliance 


We sing thee rejoicing while praises ascend, 
O sinless, O stainless ! live, live without end. 

The scarcity of the poems of Sor 
Juana Ines de la Cruz, even in her 
native land, is cause for wonder, but 
not if we first remark that still greater 
marvel the long-continued discom- 
posure of Mexican society. It is one 
hundred and seventy years since the 
parchment-bound book, from which 
we have drawn a number of facts in 
the life of the Ibetisa, was published. 
Our impression of the rarity and age 
of her printed works, as derived from 
acquaintance with educated Mexi- 
cans in their own country, tempts us 
to doubt whether they have been 
issued in any complete shape during 
the present century. For a good 
portion of the extracts we have pre- 
sented we are indebted to an intelli- 
gent and scholarly review prepared 
in Mexico, two years ago, by Don 
Francisco Prinentel, the author of a 
number of books on the races and 
languages of Mexico. Outside of 
the monastic or rich private libraries 
of that country, it is doubtless a task 
of much difficulty to find the poems 
of Sor Juana. For this reason we 
are disposed to excuse the able Ameri- 
can historian of Spanish literature for 
omitting everything in relation to her 
except the mere mention of her name 
as a lyrical writer. It is hoped, how- 
ever, that this notice of her life and 
works, probably the first which has 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

appeared in the United States, will 
supply the omission of what should 
be a chief fact in any American notice 
of Spanish literature. The claim 

which we make for Sor Juana Ines 
cle la Cruz, as regards the literature 
of the New World, is not short of the 
very highest. 





AT the golden gate of the Tem- 
ple courtyard, a Roman legionary 
soldier (detailed as body-servant to 
the General Paulus) met him. The 
soldier was leading a small, wiry Tau- 
ric (or really Tartar) horse. Paulus, 
twisting a lock of the animal's mane 
in his left hand, and taking up with 
the little finger thereof the loop of 
the bridle, sprang into the ephippia. 
The soldier smiled, as the still hand- 
some and youthful-looking legatus 
settled himself on the back of his 

" Why are you smiling, my man ?" 
quoth Paulus good-humoredly. 

" It was like the spring I saw you 
take years ago at Formiae, when I 
was a boy, upon the back of the 
horse Sejanus, which no man, my 
general, ever rode save you," replied 
the soldier. 

" Ah !" said Paulus, smiling sadly ; 
" were you there ? I fear I am not 
so agile now. We are all passing 

"Just as agile still, my general," 
returned the legionary, in a cordial 
tone ; " but about twice as strong." 

"Away! begone!" cried Paulus, 

laughing ; " I am growing old." And 
shaking the reins, he waved a salute 
to Longinus, turned his pony round, 
and rode away again into the valley 
westward, while the centurion enter- 
ed the city by the golden gate, and 
repaired under the Avails of the Tem- 
ple to Fort Antonio, where he was 
detailed as officer of Pilate's guard 
that nigjit. 

Paulus, meanwhile, rode slowly on 
his way, between the Kedron Brook 
and the walls of Jerusalem, till he 
came to the Pool of Siloam. There, 
he turned south, galloped to a fort 
which was near, turned back again 
to his right, or northward, followed 
the valley of Hinnom at a walking 
pace, looking up at the white and 
dazzling buildings on Mount Zion. 

As he slowly passed them, he spe- 
culated which could have been Da- 
vid's palace. He saw Herod's plain- 
ly enough. On his right he noticed 
the aqueduct from Solomon's Pool, 
. and followed its course as far as the 
Tower of Hippicus northward. There 
he entered the city by the Gate tf 
Gennath, and followed the valley of 
the Cheesemongers (or Tyropceon 
hollow) until he came to Ophal. 

In the middle of a very narrow 

Dion and tJic Sibyls. 


street in this low and crowded quar- 
ter, where the Romans afterward un- 
der Titus were repulsed, he met a file 
of people, some mounted, some on 
foot, led by a richly-dressed, haugh- 
ty-looking, burly man, riding a 

So narrow was the street that eith- 
er Paulus would have had to go back 
as far as the Tower of Marianne, or 
the richly-dressed and haughty-look- 
ing man about one-quarter of the 
distance, to the bridge between the 
street of the Cheesemongers and the 
court of the Gentiles. Paulus, al- 
ways full of courtesy, amenity, and 
sweetness, was in the very act of 
turning his small Tauric horse, when 
the burly man in rich dress, who led 
the opposing file, called out, " Back ! 
low people ! Back, and let Caia- 
phas go by !" 

" And who is Caiaphas ?" demand- 
ed Paulus, instantly facing round 
again and barring the way. 

" The high-priest of Jerusalem," 
was the answer, thundered forth in 
rude and minatory tones. 

" I respect," said Paulus, " and 
even revere that holy appellation ; 
but he who uses it at this moment, 
for some present purpose, has flung 
against me, who am a Roman gene- 
ral, the mandate of Back, low people. 
Where are the low people ? I do 
not believe that I am a low per- 
. son. Where, then, are the low peo- 
ple ?" 

" Come on," cried the imperious 
voice of Caiaphas. 

He himself, being the file leader, 
began then to move forward, till he 
came immediately in front of the tra- 
veller who had so courteously spoken 
to him. 

"If you want," said Paulus, " to 
pass me at once, I must get into the 
ditch, or throw you into it; which do 
you prefer ?" 

" I prefer," quoth Caiaphas, " that 

you should throw me into the ditch, 
if you either dare or can." 

" Sir," says Paulus, " I am sorry 
for the sentiment you express, or at 
least imply. But I will stand up 
against your challenge of throwing 
you into the ditch, because I both 
could do it, and dare do it, as a Ro- 
man soldier, only that there is ONE 
among you who has come to settle 
all our disputes, and who has a di- 
vine right to do so. For his sake I 
would rather be thrown into that 
drain by you soldier, officer, general, 
and Roman as I am than throw you 
into it." 

" Let me pass," cried Caiaphas, 
purple with rage. 

Paulus, whose behavior at Lake 
Benacus against the Germans, and 
previously at Formiae, and afterward 
in the terrible Calpurnian House on 
the Viminal Hill, the reader remem- 
bers, made no answer, but, riding 
back to the Tower of Marianne, 
allowed the high-priest and his fol- 
lowers there to pass him ; which they 
did with every- token of scorn and 
act of contumely that the brief and 
sudden circumstances allowed. Caia- 
phas thus passed on to his country- 
house at the south-west-by-south of 
Jerusalem, where he usually spent the 

Paulus then put his pony into a 
gallop, and soon reached the bridge 
across the Tyropseon into the court- 
yard of the Temple, commonly called 
the courtyard of the Gentiles. Such 
was the nervous excitement caused by 
his recent act of purely voluntary, gra- 
tuitous,and deliberate self-humiliation , 
that he laughed aloud as he rode 
through the Temple yard, coasting 
the western " cloisters," and so reach- 
ing Fort Antonio. 

There his servant, the Roman le- 
gionary, who had before met him at 
the golden gate, and whose name 
was Marcus, was awaiting him. 

Dion and the Sibyls. 


THAT night the palace of Herod 
the tetrarch resounded with music, 
and all the persons of rank or dis- 
tinction in Jerusalem were among the 
guests. The entertainment would 
have been remembered for years on 
account of its brilliancy ; it was des- 
tined to be remembered for all ages, 
even till the day of doom, on ac- 
count of its catastrophe, chronicled 
in the books of God, and graven in 
the horror of men. 

Paulus, unusually grave, because 
experiencing unwonted sensations, 
and anxious calmly to analyze them, 
was assailed for the first time in his 
life by a feeling of nervous irritability, 
which originated (though he knew it 
not) in his having suppressed the na- 
tural desire to chastise the insolence 
of Caiaphas that morning. He sat 
abstracted and silent, not far from 
the semi-royal chair of Herod the 
tetrarch. His magnificent dress, well- 
earned military fame, and manly and 
grave beauty (never seen to greater 
advantage than at that period of 
life, though the gloss of youth was 
past) had drawn toward him during 
the evening an unusual amount of 
attention, of which he was uncon- 
scious, and to which he would have 
been indifferent. 

The " beauty of the evening," as 
she was called (for in those days 
they used terms like those which we 
moderns use, to express our infatua- 
tion for the gleams of prettiness 
which are quenched almost as soon 
as they are seen), had repeatedly en- 
deavored to attract his attention. 
She was royal ; she was an unrivalled 
dancer. Herod, who began to feel 
dull, begged her to favor the compa- 
ny with a dance, sola. Thereupon 
the daughter of Herodias looked at 
Paulus, to whom her previous bland- 
ishments had been addressed in vain 

(he was well known to be unmarried), 
and heaved a fiery sigh. The mere 
noise of it ought to have awakened 
his notice, and yet failed to accom- 
plish even that small result. Had it 
succeeded, he was exactly the person 
to have regarded this woman with a 
feeling akin to that which, some two- 
and-twenty years before, she herself 
(or was it Herodias ? they age fast in 
the East) had waked in the bosom 
of his sister under the veranda in 
the bower of Crispus's inn, leading 
out of the fine old Latian garden 
near the banks of the Liris. 

She proceeded to execute her bal- 
let, her pas seul, her dance of im- 
mortal shame and fatal infamy. Cries 
of delight arose. The creature grew 
frantic. The court of Herod fell into 
two parties. One party proclaim- 
ed the performance a perfection of 
elegance and spirit. The other par- 
ty said not a word, but glances of 
painful feeling passed among them. 
The clamorous eulogists formed the 
large majority. In the silent minori- 
ty was numbered Paulus, who never 
in his life had felt such grave disgust 
or such settled indignation. He 
thought of his pure and innocent Es- 
ther alas, not his ! He thought 
that, had it been his sister Agatha 
who thus outraged every rudimenta- 
ry principle of the tacit social com- 
pact, he could almost find it in his 
heart to relieve the earth of her. 

Thus pondering, his glance fell 
upon Herod the tetrarch. The te- 
trarch seemed to have become deli- 
rious. He was laughing, and crying, 
and slobbering, and clapping his 
hands, and rolling his head, and 
rocking his body on the great state 
cushion under the canopy, where he 
"sat at table." While Paulus was 
contemplating him in wonder and 
shame, the wretched dancer came to 
an end of her bounds. Indecency, 
scientifically accidental, had been 

Dion and the 'Sibyls. 


the one simple principle of the exhi- 
bition. Herod called the practised 
female before him, and, in the hear- 
ing of several, bade her demand from 
him any reward she pleased, and de- 
clared upon oath that he would grant 
her demand. Paulus heard the an- 
swer. After consulting apart with 
her mother, she reapproached the te- 
trarch, and, with a flushed face, said 
that she desired the head of a prison- 
er upon a dish. 

" What prisoner ?" 

" John," said she. 

Paulus gazed at the miserable te- 
trarch, " the quarter of a king," not 
from the height of his rank as a Ro- 
man general, but from the still great- 
er height which God had given him 
as one of the first, one of the earliest 
of European gentlemen. He knew 
not then who John was. But that 
any fellow-creature in prison, not 
otherwise to be put to death, should 
have his head hewn off and placed 
upon a dish, because a woman had 
tossed her limbs to and fro in a style 
which pleased a tetrarch while it 
disgraced human society, appeared 
to Paulus to be less than reasonable. 
What he had said, the tetrarch had 
said upon oath. 

A little confusion, a slight mur- 
muring and whispering ensued, but 
the courtly music soon recommenced. 
Paulus could not afterward tell how 
long it was before the most awful 
scene he had ever witnessed occurred. 

A menial entered, bearing, on a 
large dish ; a freshly-severed human 
head, bleeding at the neck. 

" It was not a jest, then," said Pau- 
lus, in a low voice to his next neigh- 
bor, a very old man, whose face he 
remembered, but whose name he had 
all the evening been trying in vain 
to recall " it was not a base jest, dic- 
tated by the hideous taste of worse 
than barbarians!" 

"Truly," replied the aged man, 

" these Jews are worse than any bar- 
barians I ever saw, and I have seen 
most of them." 

Paulus recognized at these words 
the geographer Strabo, formerly his 
companion at the court of Augustus. 

At a sign from Herod, the menial 
carrying the dish now approached 
the daughter of Herodias, and pres- 
ented to her the bleeding and sacred 
head. She, in turn, took the dish 
and offered it to Herodias, who her- 
self bore it out of the room with a 
kind of snorting laugh. 

Paulus rose slowly and deliberate- 
ly from his place near the tetrarch, 
at whom he steadily looked. 

" This, then," said he, " is the en- 
tertainment to which you have invit- 
ed a Roman legatus. You are vexed, 
people say, that Pilate, the Roman 
governor of this city, could not hon 
or your birthday by his presence in 
your palace. Pilate's local authority 
is of course greater than mine, for I 
have none at all; but his real, per- 
manent rank, and your own real, 
permanent importance, are contempti- 
ble by the side of those which a Ro- 
man soldier of such a family as the 
ymilian has gained on the field of 
battle ; and it was a high honor to 
yourself to succeed in bringing me 
hither. And now, while disgracing 
your own house, you have insulted 
your guests. What is the name 
of the man you have murdered be- 
cause a woman dances like a goat ? 
What is his name ?" 

The tetrarch, astonished and over- 
awed, replied with a bewildered look : 

" What authority to rebuke me, be- 
cause I took my brother's wife, had 
John ?" 

" John who ?" asked Paulus, who 
from the outset had been struck by 
the name. 

" He who was styled John the Bap- 
tist," said the tetrarch. 

The words of another John rang 


Dion and the Sibyls. 

in Paulus's memory ; and he exclaim- 

" What ! John the Baptist ? John 
the Baptist, yea, and more than a 
prophet John the Angel of God! 
Is this he whom you have slain ?" 

" What had he to say to my mar- 
riage ?" answered Herod, through 
whose purple face a livid under-col- 
or was penetrating to the surface. 

" Why," exclaimed Paulus, " the 
holy books of your own nation for- 
bade such a marriage, and John could 
not hear of it without rebuking you. 
I, although a Gentile, honor those 
books. Out upon you, impious as- 
sassin ! I ask not, where was your 
mercy, or where your justice; but 
where has been your sense of com- 
mon decency, this evening ? I shall 
never cease to lament that I once 
stood under your roof. My presence 
was meant as an honor to you ; but it 
has proved a disgrace to myself." 

Taking his scarlet cloak, he flung 
it over his shoulders, and left the 
hall amid profound silence a silence 
which continued after he had quitted 
the courtyard, and begun to descend 
from Mount Zion to the labyrinth of 
streets branching downward to the 
Tyropseon Valley. In one of these, 
under a bright moonlight, he met 
again that same beautiful youth whom 
he had seen in the morning when he 
was descending the Mount of Olives. 

" Stay !" cried Paulus, suddenly 
stopping in his own rapid walk. " Said 
you not, this morning, that he who 
w^s called 'John the Baptist" was 
more than a prophet? Herod has 
this moment slain him, to please a 
vile woman. The tyrant has sent 
the holy prophet out of life." 

" Nay ; into life," replied the other 
John ; " but, brave and noble Roman 
for I see you are both the Mas- 
ter, who knows all things, and rejoices 
that John has begun to live, grieves 
as well." 

" Why grieves ?" inquired Paulus, 

" Because," replied the other John. 
" the Master is verily man, no less 
than He is Who is." 

"' What, then, is he ?" asked Pau- 
lus, with a look of awe. 

" He is the Christ, whom John 
the Prophet, now a witness unto 
death, had announced." 

Hereupon the two went their se- 
veral ways, Paulus muttering : " The 
second name in the acrostic." 

But, really, he had ceased to care 
for minor coincidences in a huge 
mass of convergent proofs all gaining 
possession of his soul, and taking 
alike his will and his understanding 
captive captive to the irresistible 
truth and the equally irresistible beau- 
ty of the message which had come. 
The immortality of which he was an 
heir, the reader has seen him long 
since believing; and long since also 
rejecting both the pantheism of the 
philosophers and the polytheism of 
the vulgar. And here was a great 
new doctrine authoritatively estab 
lishing all that the genius of Diony- 
sius had guessed, and infinitely more ; 
truths awful and mysterious, which 
offered immediate peace to that stu- 
pendous universe that is within a 
man, while assuring him of power, 
joy, and honor to begin some day, 
and nevermore to end. 

He had not been in Jerusalem long 
before he learnt much of the new 
teaching. He had secured for his 
mother, close to the Fortress Anto- 
nio, where he himself lodged, a small 
house belonging to a widow who, 
since her husband's death, had fallen 
into comparative poverty. The La- 
dy Aglais, attended still by her old 
freedwoman, Melena, was allowed 
the best and coolest part of this 
house entirely to herself, with a stair- 
case of their own leading to the flat 
roof. There they passed much of 

Dion and the Sibyls. 


their evenings after the sun had set, 
looking at the thickly-built opposite 
hills, the mansions on Zion, or down in- 
to the Tyropaeon from which the hum 
of a great multitude came, mellowed by 
the distance, and disposing the mind 
to contemplation. Many Avonderful 
things, from time to time, they heard 
of him who was now teaching 
things some of which, nay, the great- 
er part of which, as one of the sa- 
cred writers expressly declares, never 
were recorded, and the whole of 
which could not be contained in the 
libraries of the world. It may well, 
then, be imagined in what a situation 
Paulus and his mother were having 
no interest in disbelieving, no chair 
of Moses to abdicate, no doctorial 
authority or pharisaic prestige incit- 
ing them to impugn the known truth 
in what a situation they were, for 
accepting or declining what was then 

After twenty years of separation, a 
trace of Esther had been recovered 
by Paulus. One evening, his mother 
was on the flat roof of her residence 
awaiting his customary visit, when 
her son appeared and alarmed her 
by his pallor. He had seen Esther 
on foot in a group of women at the 
Gate of Gennath, going forth into 
the country, as he was entering the 
city on horseback. Aglais smiled 
sadly, saying : " Alas ! dear son, 
is that all ? I long since knew that 
she still lived ; but I would not dis- 
turb your mind by the useless intelli- 

" Scarcely altered," murmured Pau- 
lus abstractedly, " while I am quite 
old. Yes, she must now be past thir- 
ty; yes, near thirty-five." 

" As to that," said the mother, 
" you are thirty-eight, and scarcely 
seem twenty-nine. Old Rebecca, the 
mistress of this house, who lives still 
in the ground-story, as you are aware, 
has told me much about Esther." 

" She is married, I suppose," said 
Paulus, with a look of anxiety. 

" No," replied Aglais. " She has 
had innumerable offers (spite of her 
comparative poverty), and has declin- 
ed them all." 

" But what boots it ?" exclaimed 

" Old Josiah Maccabeus is dead," 
said Aglais. And here mother and son 
dropped the subject by mutual consent 

The dreadful days, closed by the 
most awful day the world has known 
closed by the ever-memorable and 
tremendous Friday came and went. 
On the Saturday, Paulus met Longi- 
nus, who said he had been on Mount 
Calvary that afternoon, and that he, 
Longinus, was now and ever hence- 
forth a disciple of him who had 
been crucified. The Sunday came, 
and brought with it a prodigious ru- 
mor, which, instead of dying out, 
found additional believers every day. 
The disciples, most of whom had 
shown themselves as timid as they 
were known to be ignorant, now 
seemed transformed into new charac- 
ters, who loudly affirmed that their 
Master had risen from the dead by 
his own power; and they were rea- 
dy to face every torment and all ter- 
rors calmly in the maintenance of 
this fact, which they predicted would 
be received and acknowledged by 
the whole world. And, indeed, it 
was no longer a rumor, but a truth, 
attested by the only witnesses who 
could by possibility know anything 
about it, either for or against; and 
whose earthly interests it would have 
been to deny it, even while they knew 
it to be true witnesses who, if they 
knew it to be false and they cer- 
tainly knew whether it were true or 
false (this much was granted, and u 
still granted, by all their opponents) 
could have had no motive, eithei 
earthly or unearthly, for feigning that 
they believed it. 


Dion and the Sibyls. 

So pregnant is this simple reason- 
ing, that a man might ponder it and 
study it for a whole month, and yet 
find fresh strength and an ever-in- 
creasing weight in the considerations 
which it suggests; not even find a 
flaw if he made the one month 
twelve. Paulus's mind was deter- 
mined, and so was his mother's. 
The son sought that same beautiful 
youth whom he had seen twice be- 
fore; told him the new desire, the 
new belief, which had made his 
mother's and his own heart glad; 
and by him they were baptized as 
Christians, disciples of him that had 
been crucified by that fair youth, I 
say, who was to be known for ever 
among men as <; Saint John the 

"After all, mother," said Paulus, 
when they were returning together 
to her dwelling, "it is not so very 
mysterious ; I mean that difficulty 
about the lowliness of our divine 
Teacher's chosen place among men. 
Because, see you, if the builder of 
those glorious stars and that sublime 
firmament was to come at all 
amongst us, he would be certain 
to take the lowest and smallest lot, 
lest we should deem there was any 
difference as before him. We are all 
low and small together the earth 
itself, I am told, being but a sort of 
Bethlehem among the stars; but, 
anyhow, we are but mites and em- 
mets on a blade of grass in his sight, 
and had he taken a great relative 
place amidst us, it might countenance 
the lie and the delusion of our silly 
pride. That part of it is to me not 
so mysterious, although I don't won- 
der at the Jewish notion that their 
Messiah was to have been a great 
conquering prince that is probably 
what the Antichrist will be. It 
would suit the blindness of vanity 

As he spoke the words, they heard 

a quick footstep behind, and were 
overtaken by Longinus, who, saying 
he had just heard of their reception, 
greeted them with every demonstra- 
tion of rapturous affection. 

" Now," pursued he, walking by 
their side, " good for evil to Master 
Paulus's family. Forgive the appa- 
rent intrusion, dear general, if I men- 
tion that I happen to know the story 
of your youthful love, as all the world 
have witnessed your fidelity to an un- 
availing attachment. But learn from 
poor Longinus that Esther Macca- 
beus is now a disciple; and the 
Christian maiden can wed, under a 
still holier law, the brave Gentile 
whom the Jewess was bound to re- 

With this he turned into an alley 
under the court of the Gentile?, and 


ONE still and sultry evening, the 
decline of a brooding day in spring, 
two persons were sitting on the flat 
roof of a house in Jerusalem. They 
were the Athenian Lady Aglais and 
her son, the comparatively youthful 
Roman General Paulus he who has 
so largely figured, even from his gal- 
lant boyhood, in the events and affairs 
we have been recording. 

It was the 3oth of March, and a 
Wednesday the first of all Easter- 
Wednesdays the first in that new 
and perpetual calendar by which, 
throughout the fairest regions of 
earth, among all enlightened nations 
and civilized races, till the crash of 
doom, time was for evermore to be 

A servant, carrying a skin-cask 
slung over his shoulders, was water- 
ing the flowers, faint with thirst; 
and these, arranged in fanciful vases, 
which made an artificial garden of 
the housetop, shook their drooping 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

heads under the fresh and grateful 
sho\ver, and seemed to answer it 
with smiles of a thousand blooms 
and rays. As the man stole softly 
to and fro about the roof, now ap- 
proaching the lady and her son, now 
receding, he seemed, in spite of the 
foreign language in which they spoke, 
and in spite of the low and hushed 
tone they observed, to follow, with in- 
tense and breathless though stealthy 
excitement, the tenor of their conver- 
sation; while his figure, in the last 
evening rays, cast a long, shifting 
shadow that streaked with black the 
yellow flood to its farthest limit, 
climbed the parapet, broke upon 
its grail-work of balusters, and then 
was beheaded, for it flung off its 
head out of sight into empty space, 
leaving the calm bright air unblotted 
above the stone guard-wall. 

An occurrence took place of which 
(that Wednesday evening) Paulus and 
his mother were witnesses an occur- 
rence in dumb show, the significance 
of which they were destined, only 
after several years, to learn ; yet the 
incident was so singular, so strange, 
so impressive it was such a picture 
in such a quarter that when, long 
subsequently, the explanation came, 
they seemed to be still actually assist- 
ing in person at the scene which, 
while they beheld it, they had no 
means of understanding. We are 
going, in one moment, to relate that 
occurrence; and we must here re- 
quest the reader to grant us his full 
belief and his confidence when we 
remark that, in comparison of his 
amusement, his profit, and that men- 
tal gallery of pictures to be his hence- 
forth (which we try to give to all who 
honor these pages with a perusal), we 
feel the sincerest contempt for any 
mere display of scholarship or learn- 
ing. For this reason, and this rea- 
son alone, and certainly from no 
scantiness, and still less from any 

lack of authorities, we shall almost 
disencumber our narrative of refer- 
ences to the ancient writers and re- 
condite documents (such as the As- 
tronomic Formula of Philip Aridceus) 
which establish as positive historical 
facts the more striking of the occur- 
rences still to be mentioned. In one 
instance the intelligent reader will 
discern that the most sacred of all 
evidence supports what we have to 
record. But if we were to show with 
what nicety of precision much pro- 
fane, yet respectable and even vene- 
rable, testimony accords with the 
passage here meant in the Acts of 
the Apostles, and how abundantly 
such testimony corroborates and sup- 
plements the inspired- account, this 
book would cease to be what it aims 
at being, and would become a his- 
torical treatise of the German criti- 
cism school.* 

Satisfied, therefore, with the foot- 
notes below (at which the reader will 
oblige us by just glancing, and which 
are appended, in perfect good faith 
and simple honesty, as implying no 
more than we could make good), we 
will avoid boring those who have a 
right to, and who expect, the conclu- 
sion of a straightforward story at our 
hands, t 

* If any one should feel astonished at our in- 
sisting not only upon the exact day, but the very 
hour, when certain things occurred, let him or 
her remember that the calculation of eclipses, 
passing backward from one to another (as though 
ascending the steps of a staircase), reaches and 
fixes the date yes, the precise minute of day 
when incidents took place between which and us 
the broad haze of twice a thousand years is inter- 

t For the rest, in support of the matters we 
have too briefly to recount, we could burden 
these pages with voluminous, and some of them 
most interesting and beautiful, extracts from both 
heathen and Christian works of classic fame and 
standard authority ; with passages of direct and 
indirect evidence from Josephus, Phlegon, Plu- 
tarch, Saint Dionysius (our own true hero, the 
Areopagite of Greece, the St. Denis of France) 
[ad Apollophanem. epis. xi., and ad Polycarpum 
Antistidem,v\\.~\\ Tertullian (Cant. Jud., c. 8); 
St. Augustine (Civ. Dei, lib. 14) ; St. Chrysostom 
(Horn, de Joanne Buaptista) ; the Bollandists, Ba- 
ronius, Eusebius, Tillemont, Huet, and a host of 
others. . . But our statements will not need such 

6 4 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

Paul us and his mother were con- 
versing, as has been described, in 
Greek, while the serving-man, despite 
his ignorance of that language, had 
the air of half-following the drift of 
what they said, and of catching the 
main purport of it with wonder and 
awe. There was, indeed, at that 
moment, only one topic in all Jeru- 
salem. He who, less than a week 
ago, had been crucified, and with the 
time of whose coming (as much as 
with all the particulars of his life, 
teaching, works, and death) the old 
prophecies were found more and 
more startlingly, circumstantially, 
unmistakably, the more they were 
studied, questioned, and canvassed, 
to agree, point by point, down to 
what would seem even trivial de- 
tails (indicated as if merely to em- 
phasize the incommunicable identity 
of the Messiah) he had himself 
stated, distinctly and publicly, that, 
by his own power, he would rise from 
the dead in three days; that, in three 
days after, he should be " lifted up " 
and be made " a spectacle for men 
and angels ;" in three days after they 
should have destroyed it, he would 
rebuild the holy temple of his body. 
And now these rumors these mi- 
nute, these positive accounts had 
he, then, really reappeared, accord- 
ing to his word and promise ? 
Was it possible ? Was it the 

Many had, on the previous Friday 
night, stated that, of a verity, they 
had seen their deceased parents and 
relatives. Again, on the Saturday, 
many declared, amid awe-stricken 
groups of listeners, that the unknown 
land had sent them its visitants, in 
various places, under various aspects, 
to startle the guilty city ; which, after 

detailed " stabilitation," because the facts, being 
notorious among scholars, will be impugned by 
no really educated man or thoroughly competent 

killing the King's messenger-servants, 
had just killed the King's Son, who 
had come, as had been a thousand 
times announced, in the very fulness, 
the exact maturity of days, to deliver 
the final embassy to men. 

On that Wednesday evening, there 
was, in truth, but one theme of con- 
versation, one subject of thought, all 
through Jerusalem, and already far 
beyond Jerusalem ; among poor and 
rich, high and low, natives and stran- 
gers, the robbers of the Syrian hills 
and Arabian deserts, the dwellers in 
the city, the travellers on the roads 
and at the inns, among Sadducees, 
Pharisees, Romans, Greeks, Egyp- 
tians, and barbarians. 

No wonder, then, if the humble 
serving-man, as he watered the flow- 
ers, penetrated the drift of the mo- 
ther's and the son's discussion. For 
him and such as he was the message. 
The poor Syrian had once, for a 
while, rendered occasional out-door 
service to the family of Lazarus ; and 
he had known Lazarus in three states 
had known him living, dead, again 
alive. After days of death in that 
fierce climate, where inanimate flesh 
putrefies fast, he had beheld Lazarus, 
at the call of one upon whose linea- 
ments he gazed, at the time, with un- 
conscious adoration, come forth, not 
merely from death, but from incipi- 
ent decomposition, back into balmy 
life back to the " vita serena." 

Now, was he who, in that instance, 
had allowed it to be perceived and 
felt that he was really the Lord of 
life, whom death and rottenness were 
manifestly unable to disobey was he 
himself, as his disciples declared he 
was, living again among them, since 
the morning of the last Sunday (the 
fcria flrima), according to his own 
public prediction and distinct pro- 
mise ? Was he not ? Was he ? 

Aglais and Paulus had heard more 
than one circumstantial account of 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

this, his reappearance, according to 
that, his promise. By this one and 
by the other he had been met. They 
had gazed upon him, spoken to him, 
heard him in reply, touched him, in 
such a place, on that bridge, that road, 
in such a garden. He had walked con- 
versing with them, had sat with them 
at meat, had broken bread with them, 
as was his wont, had then vanished. 

Where was his body, over which 
the Pharisees had set their guard of 
soldiers? Not in the grave. No; 
but where ? Had the Pharisees ac- 
counted for it ? Could they tell what 
had become of it ? Could the sol- 
diers ? The disciples could, and they 

" Mother," said Paulus, " do you 
know what those soldiers say ? One 
of them once served in a legion 
which I commanded. Do you know 
what they say ?" 

" You mean," replied Aglais, 
"about their inability to hinder 
the abstraction. What?" 

" That an act to which they are 
the only witnesses could not be 
stopped by them, because of it they 
were not witnesses, being buried in 

" Consistent," said the Greek lady. 
" Yes ; but a much weightier fact is 
that expectation of the disciples, to 
prevent the realization of which the 
Pharisees set their guard." 

" What expectation ? And why 
weightier ? What can be weightier ?" 
asked the general. 

"That their Master would keep 
his word, and fulfil his prediction of 
rising from the tomb on the third 
day. If they saw him again alive 
within the promised time, they and 
the people would worship him as 
God; but, if the Pharisees could 
show the body on the third day, or 
could even account for it, that belief 
would die." 

" Clearly," answered Paulus, " the 
VOL. xin. 5 

disciples expected to see him again 
on and after the third day, waiting 
for his word to be fulfilled." 

" Now, Paulus," pursued Aglais, 
"suppose this expectation of theirs 
not fulfilled ; suppose that not one of 
those waiting for his word was con- 
scious of any reason for believing it 
to have been realized " 

Paulus interrupted his mother. 

" There is only one possible way in 
which they could be induced to be- 
lieve it realized namely, that he 
should be seen again alive." 

" Quite so," she resumed. " But 
suppose that he has not been seen ; 
suppose that not one of those who 
expected to see him again has thus 
seen him. How would they then 
feel on this Wednesday morning ?" 

" They would feel that the expec- 
tation which he had solemnly and 
publicly authorized them to depend 
upon was idle and vain ; they would 
not and could not by any possibility 
feel that they had, in this great par- 
ticular, reason to consider his word 
to have been kept. They would be 
discouraged to the very last degree. 
They would, of course, hide them- 
selves. I would do so myself, and I 
believe I am no coward. In short, 
they would feel no reason to hope in 
his protection, or to expect that his 
other and still mightier promises con- 
cerning their own future eternal life 
would by him be realized. They 
would not incur any inconvenience, 
or brave any danger, or take any 
trouble, or risk any loss " 

It was Aglais's turn to interrupt. 

" Now, is this their attitude ?" she 

" The reverse, the opposite, the 
contradictory of their attitude." 

The lady continued in a low tone : 
"If, expecting, upon his own assur- 
ance, that some among them should 
see him," she asked, " not one of 
them had seen him, would they, at 


Dion and the Sibyls. 

this moment, have any motive for 
bringing upon themselves the tor- 
tures, insults, shame, and death which 
he underwent, and all this in order to 
induce others to believe apparitions 
and a resurrection which in their 
own hearts they did not themselves 
believe, and for believing which they 
were, moreover, conscious that they 
possessed no ground, no reason, no 
pretext ?" 

A sweet, ringing, vibrant voice at 
their side here said : 

"And in order by deliberate cir- 
cumstantial lying, of an awful and 
blasphemous kind, to please the God 
of truth; and to compensate them- 
selves by his protection above, in a 
future life, for the present and imme- 
diate destruction which they are incur- 
ring among the Pharisees and the 
men of power here below !" 

Looking round, they beheld Esther 
of the Maccabees. 

Never had she seemed to Paulus 
so beautiful ; but there was a marked 
change; for, however intellectual had 
always been the translucent purity of 
that oval brow, through which, as 
through a lamp of alabaster, shone 
the vivid mind within, there was now 
the mysterious effluence of " that 
Essence increate" who had come to 
abide in, and had strangely transfi- 
gured the appearance of, the faithful- 
souled Hebrew maiden. And when 
Paulus, after she had embraced his 
mother, abstractedly took her hand, 
his heart was lifted upward with a 
species of wonder ; and. without ad- 
verting to it, he was asking himself 
to what marvellous kingdom she had 
become heiress, in what supernal 
court of everlasting joy and unas- 
sailable prerogatives was this beauti- 
ful creature destined to live, loving 
and beloved, adorning almost the 
glories which she reflected, dispensed, 
and multiplied, as if from some holy, 
mysterious, and spiritual mirror. 

" O dear Lady Aglais ! and O 
legatus!" she said, with a gesture 
amazing in its expressiveness and pa- 
thetic fervor (she had brought the 
finger-tips of both hands together 
under the chin, and then lowered 
them with the palms outward toward 
her hearers, and so she stood in an 
attitude of the utmost grace and dig- 
nity combined, like one appealing to 
the candor and good faith of others) 
" O dear friends ! I was just now 
passing through my own garden on 
my way hither, when, under the fig- 
tree (where he used to sit poring 
over the holy books of our people), 
I beheld my dead father, but stand- 
ing, and not in his old accustomed 
wicker-chair ; and he gazed upon me 
with large, earnest eyes ; and as he 
stood, his head almost touched the 
leaves of that hollow, embowering fig- 
tree ; and he was pale, so extremely 
pale as he was never during life ; 
and he called me : ' Esther,' he 
said, and his voice sounded far 
away. Ah ! my God, from what a 
huge distance it seemed to come ! 
And lo ! lady, and thbu, legatus, he 
said these words to me : ' I have 
been in the vast, dim house, and have 
seen our Father Abraham ; and I 
have seen our great Lawgiver, and 
all our prophets, excepting only two, 
Elias and Enoch ; and I asked, Where 
were they ? And in all the dim, vast 
house none answered me, but the 
forefinger was pressed to the silent 
lips of those who there waited. And, 
suddenly, there was the noise of in- 
numerable armies coming swiftly from 
afar but your ears are mortal and 
your eyes veiled, and were I even per- 
mitted to tell you that which shook, be- 
yond this little world, the large world 
and its eternal thrones, your mind would 
not at present understand my words. 
Enough, Esther, that I have been 
allowed to renew to you, in my own 
behalf, and that of others among our 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

people who have been called before 
you to the vast, dim, silent city, the 
exhortation which our ancestor Judas 
Maccabeus sent with offerings to the 
high-priest ; namely, that you will 
pray for our spirits. Our innumera- 
ble company has just been thinned ; 
the glorious Judas Maccabeus, our 
ancestor, and that holy mother of 
the Maccabees, and almost all who 
were waiting with me in the dim, 
vast kingdom of expectation, have 
gone for ever ; and I, and a few, 
have been commanded to expect yet 
a little time; until the incense of 
holy prayer shall have furthe^ gone 
up in the presence of the Great White 
Throne.' " 

Esther paused, her eyes dilated, 
and stood a moment with the hands 
again brought together; and so per- 
fect a figure of truthfulness, and such 
an impersonation of sincerity, she 
looked, that the Jewish servant, who 
understood not a word of the tongue 
in which she addressed the Greek 
lady and her son, gazed at her ; his 
work suspended, his cask held high 
in air, with all the marks of one who 
heard and accepted some sacred and 
unquestionable revelation. 

' Go on, dear child," said Aglais. 
" What passed further ?" 

" I asked the pale image what 
this meant, that he should term the 
condition in which he is waiting and 
has yet to wait a little time that 
vast, dim condition 'a house,' 'a 
city,' and ' a kingdom.' ' The dwellers,' 
he replied, 'are watched in that 
kingdom by silent protectors, mighty 
and beautiful, whose faces, full of a 
severe, sad love, are the torches and 
the only light those dwellers ever 
see; and the vast, dim city has a 
sunless and a starless sky for its roof, 
under which they wait ; and that sky 
is the ceiling which echoes the sighs 
of their pain ; and thus to them it 
has been a kingdom, and a city, and 

a house ; and, until the ninth hour 
of last Friday, they were numerous 
as the nations of men !' ' And at the 
ninth hour of that day, I asked, ' O 
my father! what occurred when so 
many departed, and you and a small 
number were left still to wait ?' And 
he gazed at me for an instant with a 
wan and wistful look ; then, lo ! I 
saw nothing where he had been 
standing under the fig-tree. 

" But it was at the ninth hour of 
the last Friday the Master had expir- 
ed by the side of the penitent who 
was that very day to be with him in 
paradise !" cried Aglais. 

At Esther's arrival, Paulus and Ag- 
lais had both risen from a kind of 
semicircular wicker settle which oc- 
cupied one of the corners of the 
roof; and they now, all three, when 
Esther had finished her strange, brief 
narrative, leaned silent and musing 
against the parapet ; where, under 
the shade of a clustering rhododen- 
dron, they had a view westward 
(drawn, as people are who ponder, 
toward whatever object is most lu- 
minous) of the towers and palaces 
and pinnacles of the Holy City, then 
reddening in the sunset. One word 
respecting the spot where the little 
group was thus collected, and (among 
modern, and especially western, na- 
tions) concerning its peculiar scenic 

The roof was an irregular parallel- 
ogram, protected on all sides by a 
low, thick parapet, at two opposite 
corners of which, in the diagonals, 
were two doors of masonry, bolted 
with massive round bars of iron, or 
left open ; thus excluding or admitting 
communication with the contiguous 
houses. The writer, many years ago, 
saw such parapet doors on the house- 
tops of modern Algiers : nor was the 
arrangement unknown in the more 
famous Eastern cities of antiquity, 
where the roofs glowed with plants 


Dion and the Sibyls. 

in vases. When, on some public 
occasion, the passages were opened, 
the richer inhabitants, far above the 
noise, dust, squalor, sultriness, and 
comparative darkness of the narrow 
and noisome streets, could stroll and 
lounge for miles, in mid-air, among 
flowers ; could cross even flying and 
embowered bridges (of which a pri- 
vileged number possessed the keys, 
like those who have keys to the 
gardens of our squares) ; and so 
Dives, unseen of Lazarus, but seeing 
far down all things little and supine, 
could wander through parterres of 
bloom, and perfumed alleys, and 
shrubberies of enchantment, with ef- 
fects of sunlight sprinkled, so to 
speak, with coolness and with 
shadows, soothed out of the noon- 
day fierceness into tints various and 
tender; unsoiled of the stains and 
pains that stained and pained the 
poor sordid world below; until the 
hearts of those who thus promenaded 
amid circumstances of such delicious 
refinement and luxury, bearing and 
hearing news, and exchanging civil- 
ities, were " lifted up," and became 
even like to the heart of Nabucho- 
donosor the king. Sometimes the 
pecten-beaten dulcimer, or the fin- 
gered lyre of six strings, made long- 
forgotten airs of music beguile the 
declining day, and linger for hours 
longer, ravishing the night under the 
stars of the Syrian sky. Such the 

But none of the roof-doors were 
open that Wednesday evening. 
Something ailed the Holy City. 
Out of the hushed heavens, mysteries 
and a stern doom were brooding 
over Jerusalem. Already the fer- 
menting germ of those dreadful fac- 
tions which were to tear to pieces, 
with intestine rage, the whole Jewish 
body, while the city was writhing in 
the vain death-struggle against Titus, 
a few years later, had begun to make it- 

self sensible to the observant. A fierce 
hatred of the Romans and an insane 
eagerness to re-establish the old Jewish 
independence had taken possession 
of certain youthful fanatics; and " pos- 
sessed " indeed they seemed. On the 
one side, the Roman officers of the 
garrison, from Pilate down, had re- 
ceived anonymous warnings, in the 
wildest style, requiring them to with- 
draw from Jerusalem within a given 
time, or they should be all executed 
in the streets, as opportunity might 
occur; on the other, the prefect of 
Syria had been earnestly requested 
by Pilate to strengthen the garrison; 
while in the. city itself the soldiers 
were strictly admonished to keep to 
their quarters, to avoid late hours, 
and to hold no intercourse when off 
duty with the inhabitants. Leaves 
of absence were stopped. A few 
legionaries had been already mur- 
dered in the neighborhood of wine- 
shops, in the small winding alleys, 
and in places of evil repute, and no 
efforts succeeded in identifying the 

But these were only the feeble and 
evanescent symptoms, destined to 
disappear and reappear, of a political 
and social phase which was not to 
become the predominant situation 
until another situation should have 
exhausted its first fury. This, the 
first, was to be the war of the Syna- 
gogue against the disciples of the 
Messiah, whom those disciples went 
about declaring to have risen from 
the tomb, according to his distinct 
promise; whom they went about de- 
claring to have been already seen, 
and heard, and touched by them- 
selves, again and again. 

No wonder, then, if Aglais and 
Paulus and Esther had discussed in 
hushed tones and in Greek the 
wonders and various portents attend- 
ant upon the supreme and central 
fact that Resurrection of the Mas- 

Dion and the Sibyls. 


ter which absorbed their whole 
hearts and minds, leaving no room 
for any other interest therein at this 
tremendous epoch the grand turn- 
ing-point of human destinies and of 
our whole planet's history. 

From the parapet against which 
they were leaning, they now gazed in 
silence upon the splendid scenes 
below and opposite. Across a maze 
of narrow streets they saw the man- 
sions, the pinnacles, the towers, and 
that great supernal " Temple of God," 
all so soon to perish violently, in a 
general, a complete, and an irrever- 
sible destruction. They saw the 
play of light and shadow upon one 
long tree-lined side of Herod's proud 
palace ; they saw the ripple of quiv- 
ering leaves reflected upon the white 
colonnades (and their tessellated, 
shady floors) of Pilate's fatal house; 
and, while revolving thoughts and 
questions of unspeakable importance 
and solemnity, they all three sudden- 
ly beheld an acted picture, a passing 
scene, voiceless to them, yet impres- 
sive, which blent itself into their 
recollection of other scenes, never to 
be effaced from the memory of man- 
kind, which, not a week before, had 
been under those very colonnades 

A woman in the attire of a Roman 
matron came quickly forth upon the 
first-story balcony in the house of 
Pontius Pilate, and, leaning over the 
rail, waved her hand with an imper- 
ative gesture to some one below. 

She was followed into the balcony 
more slowly by a man wearing the 
grand costume of an ancient Roman 
military governor, who held in his 
hand a sealed and folded letter, tied 
with the usual silk string. The man 
was evidently Pilate himself. He 
looked long and gloomily at the let- 
ter, and seemed to be plunged in 
thought. He even let what he car- 
ried fall at his feet, and did not ap- 

pear to be aware of this for some 
moments. It was the woman who 
picked up the letter, and gave it back 
into his hand. Then Pilate leaned 
over the balustrade, in his turn, and 
spoke to a man below in military 
costume, who was mounted on a 
powerful horse, and seemed to be 
equipped for travel. The soldier 
saluted, looking up, when he was ad- 
dressed, and saluted again when his 
superior had ceased speaking; where- 
upon Pilate dropped the letter (a 
large and heavy dispatch), which 
the soldier caught and secured under 
his belt, inside the tunic, or " sagum," 
immediately afterward riding away 
at a canter. Our three friends saw 
Pilate, his head bent and his eyes on 
the ground, slowly and ponderingly 
re-enter the house by a screen-door, 
the same through which he had come 
out upon the balcony ; but the lady, 
clasping her hands a little in front of 
her forehead, gazed into the heavens 
with a face ashy pale, and with eyes 
from which tears were streaming. 

It is a well-known and for centu- 
ries universally received tradition, 
besides being a fact recorded by one 
most respectable and trustworthy 
author (who, besides, was not a Chris- 
tian, but a Jew) a fact without 
which the allusions to it in various 
ancient authorities, together with 
Phlegon the Chronologer's subse- 
quent recital of Tiberius's extraordin- 
ary conduct, would be unintelligible 
and unaccountable that Pontius 
Pilate, harassed by the unappeasable 
reproaches of his wife, and stung by 
something within his own bosom 
which allowed him peace no more, 
until (sleepless, and unable again, 
unable for ever, to sleep) he be- 
queathed, some years afterward, by 
an awful death, whether intentional 
or not, his name to a great Alpine 
hill, a hill not thenceforth named, or 
to be named, while time and moun- 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

tains last, Dy any name but " Pilate's " 
among distant and then barbarous 
nations it is well known, I say, that 
Pilate sent to Tiberius Caesar a long 
and minute relation concerning the 
life, the death, and the disappearance 
from the tomb of him whom he had 
scourged, and whom the Jews had 
crucified, together with a notice of 
the supernatural wonders wrought by 
him; his previous notorious an- 
nouncement of his own intended 
resurrection ; the directly consequent 
and equally notorious precautions 
taken to hinder it; the disappear- 
ance, in spite of this, of the body; 
the testimony of the soldiers that 
they were witnesses to the abstrac- 
tion, which they were unable to stop, 
because they alleged that they were 
not witnesses of it (being buried in 
sleep); that, in fact, thair testimony 
proved nothing save the body's dis- 
appearance from the massively-sealed 
tomb (which would have stood a 
small siege) ; the failure of the Syna- 
gogue to account for the body ; the 
account of it by the disciples; and, 
finally, the admissions of the Phari- 
sees that all their prophets had become 
unexplainable if this was not their 
Messiah, yet that such a conclusion 
was to them impossible, because he 
was to have been their king, and a 
conquering king, and to have found- 
ed an empire extending through all 
nations and tongues ; their stem and 
ever-growing disaffection to the Ro- 
man rule; the universal amazement, 
excitement, and anxiety arising from 
the circumstance that, while neither 
the Synagogue nor the soldiers could 
throw any light upon what had be- 
come of the body, the disciples of 
him who had predicted his own re- 
surrection explained the event openly 
and fearlessly by stating that they 
had again and again met him since 
the previous feria prima ; that they 
cared for no protection except his 

alone ; that the dead was once more 
among them living, and henceforth 
immortal their Master and God; 
the ultimate Judge of this world, and 
the foretold Founder of an everlast- 
ing kingdom ! Pilate added several 
strange and astounding particulars. 

This, in a general way, is known ; 
and it is likewise known that Tiberius 
Caesar was so deeply impressed by 
the dispatch of the Jerusalem gover- 
nor, arriving in his hands about the 
same moment, as we shall find in the 
next chapter, when a strange inci- 
dent (narrated by Plutarch) took 
place, that he suddenly convened the 
senate in a formal indiction, and pro- 
posed to them to raise a temple to 
Christ, and to rank him solemnly 
among the gods of the empire ! But 
not such nor of such acknowledg- 
ments was to be the kingdom of the 
"jealous" and the only God. 

Aglais, Paulus, and Esther had 
assisted at a memorable pantomime. 
They had beheld the mounted sol- 
dier who rode with a memorable 
letter to the sea-coast ; they had seen 
the vain effort of him who had offered 
the eople a choice between Barab- 
bas and " the desired of nations," to 
call the great of the earth into his 
perplexities, to quiet his awakened 
conscience, to turn aside from the 
dread warnings whispered to his soul, 
to lull by futile means an all too 
late remorse. 


IN our last chapter, Paulus and 
his Athenian mother had obtained, 
through Esther's recital of her wak- 
ing dream or vision, one little glimpse 
at that prison, that place of detention, 
which she had termed (as she herself 
had heard it termed) " the dim, vast 
house," "the vast, dim city," and the 
" dim, vast kingdom." 

The vague notion she could give 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

of that scene of immurement cannot 
be expected to prove interesting to so 
large a number, as Mr. Pickwick has 
cause to feel an interest in his 
glimpses of the " Fleet Prison," once 
famous in London. But such inter- 
est as the former house of deten- 
tion commands is of a different 
kind, and those who may experience 
it are a different class. Plato (as a 
great critic observes) has been trans- 
lated from age to age into some do- 
zen great modern languages, in order 
that he might be read by about a 
score of persons in each generation. 
But that score are the little fountains 
of the large rivers that bear to the 
sea the business of the world. Few 
are directly taught by Kant, Sir 'Wil- 
liam Hamilton, John Stuart Mill, 
Cousin, or Balmez ; but the millions 
are taught and think through those 
whom they have taught to think. 
Between the good and evil origina- 
tors or conservators of ideas, and 
the huge masses who do all their 
mental processes at third hand, stand 
the interpreters; and these listen 
with bent heads, while they hold 
trumpets which are heard at the 
extremities of the earth. 

Paulus lingered in Jerusalem. 
Weeks flew by. Spring passed into 
summer; summer was passing into 
autumn; and still, from time to time, 
as, in the evenings, mother and son 
sat among the flowers on the flat 
roof, Esther would join them. 

One night, she had hardly appear- 
ed, when Longinus the centurion fol- 
lowed her, bearing a letter for Paulus, 
which, he said, had just arrived at 
Fort Antonio, by the hands of an 
orderly, from the governor. The 
letter was from Dionysius of Athens, 
now run des quarante, a member of 
that great Areopagus of which the 
French Academy is partly a modern 
image; and it was written immedi- 
ately after his return from a tour in 

Egypt, and a cruise through the 
/Egean Sea, among the famous and 
beautiful Greek Islands, to resume 
his duties as a teacher of philosophy 
and a professor of the higher litera- 
ture at Athens. 

Paulus, after a word with his 
mother and Esther, desired Longi- 
nus to favor them with his company. 
Sherbets and other refreshments were 
brought. They all sat down on the 
semicircular wicker settle at the 
corner of the roof, under the bower- 
like branches of the large rhododen- 
ron; a small lamp was held for 
Paulus by the Jewish serving-man, 
and Paulus read the letter aloud to 
that sympathetic group. Extracts 
we will give, in the substance, con- 
cerning two occurrences. The first, 
as the reader sees, the listening cir- 
cle learned from Dionysius; but we 
have it in reality from Plutarch, upon 
whose narrative Eusebius and many 
other weighty authorities and grave 
historians have commented. 

The captain and owner (for he 
was both) of the vessel in which 
Dion sailed back from Egypt to 
Athens was an Egyptian of the 
name of Thramnus (some call him 
Thamus). He said that a very 
weird thing had happened to him 
in his immediately previous trip, 
which had been from Greece to Italy. 
Dion was at the time at Heliopolis, 
in Egypt, with his friend, the cele- 
brated philosopher Apollophanes, 
who, though (like Dion himself) 
only between twenty and thirty, had 
already (in this also resembling 
Dion) obtained an almost world-wide 
fame for eloquence, astronomical sci- 
ence, and general learning. When 
Thramnus had neared the Echinades 
Islands, the wind fell, a sudden calm 
came, and they had to drop anchor 
near Paxos. The night was sultry ; 
every one was on deck. Suddenly, 
from the lonely shore, a loud, strange 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

voice hailed the captain: "Thram- 
nus !" it cried. None answered. 
Again, louder than human, came the 
cry, "Thramnus!" Still none an- 
swered. For the third time, " Thram- 
nus !" was thundered from the lonely 
coast. Then Thramnus himself 
called out: "Who hails? What is 
it?" Shrill and far louder than before 
was the voice in reply : " When you 
reach the Lagoon of Palus, announce 
then that the Great Pan is dead." 

Thereupon, everything became si- 
lent, save the sluggish wash of the 
waves under the vessel's side. A sort 
of council was at once held on board ; 
and first they toolc a note of the 
exact date and the hour. They 
found that it was exactly the ninth 
hour of the sixth jeria, or day, in 
the month of March, in the fourth 
year (according with Phlegon's cor- 
rected and checked astronomical 
chronology) of the two hundred and 
second Olympiad: in other words, 
this, being translated into modern 
reckoning, means, six in the after- 
noon of Friday, the 25th of March, 
in the thirty-third year of our Lord. 

Dion breaks off in his letter here to 
remark : " You will learn presently 
what happened to me and to Apollo- 
phanes, and to the whole renowned 
city of Heliopolis, at the same hour 
exactly of that same day ; and it is 
the coincidence between the two 
occurrences which has fixed them so 
deeply in my mind." 

Well; he proceeds to say that 
Thramnus, having asked his passen- 
gers, who happened to be unusually 
numerous, whether they considered 
he ought to obey this mysterious man- 
date, and having suggested himself 
that, if, on their reaching Palus, or 
Pelodes, the wind held fair, they 
should not lose time by stopping, but 
if the wind were there to fail, and 
they were forced to halt at that place, 
then it might be no harm to pay at- 

tention to the injunction, and see 
what came of it, they were all unani- 
mously of his opinion. Thereupon, 
as though by some design, in the 
midst ot a calm the breeze sprang up 
freshly again, and they proceeded on 
their way. When they came to the 
indicated spot, all were again on deck, 
unable to forget the strange incident 
at Paxos; and, on a sudden, the 
wind fell, and they were becalmed. 

Thramnus, accordingly, after a 
pause, leaned over the ship's side, 
and, as loudly as he could, shouted 
that the great Pan was dead. No 
sooner had the words been pro- 
nounced than all round the vessel 
were heard a world of sighs issuing 
from the deep and in the air, with 
groans, and meanings, and long, 
wild, bitter waitings innumerable, 
as though from vast unseen multi- 
tudes and a host of creatures plung- 
ed in dismay and despair. Those on 
board were stricken with amazement 
and terror. When they arrived in 
Rome, arid were recounting the ad- 
ventures of their voyage, this wild 
story sent its rumor far and near, and 
made such an impression that it 
reached the ears of Tiberius Csesar, 
who was then in the capital. He 
sent for Thramnus and several of the 
passengers, as Plutarch records for 
us, particularly one, Epitherses, who 
afterward, at Athens, with his son 
^Emilianus, and the traveller Philip, 
used often to tell the story till his 
death. Tiberius, after ascertaining 
the facts, summoned all the learned 
men who chanced then to be in Rome, 
and requested their opinion. 

Their opinion, which is extant, mat- 
ters little. The holy fathers who 
have investigated this occurrence are 
divided in their views. It must be 
remembered that Plutarch relates an- 
other truly wonderful fact universal in 
its range, as being notoriously simul- 
taneous with the singular local adven- 

Dion and the Sibyls 


ture above described the sudden 
silence of Delphi, and all the other 
famous pagan oracles, from the 8th 
day before the Kalends of April, in the 
202d Olympiad, at six P.M. At that 
hour, on that day (March 25, Fri- 
day, Anno Domini 33), those oracles 
were stricken dumb, and nevermore 
returned answers to their votaries. 
Coupling these phenomena together, 
in presence of a thousand other por- 
tents, the holy fathers think, one 
party of them, that the enemy of 
man and of God, and that enemy's 
legions, were grieving and wailing, 
at the hour which Plutarch specifies 
(the time of evening, and on the very 
day, when our Lord died), at the 
redemption just then consummated ; 
others, that the Almighty permitted 
nature " to sigh through all her 
works," in sympathy with the vo- 
luntary sufferings of her expiring 

" Now, hearken," proceeded Dion 
in his letter, " to how I was occupied, 
hundreds of miles away, in Helio- 
polis, at the time, the very hour of the 
very day, when so wild and weird a 
response came from the powers of the 
air and the recesses of the deep to 
those who shouted forth, amid a calm 
on the silent breast of the ^Egean 
Sea, that the great Pan (' the great 
All,' ' the universal Lord,' as you, 
my friends, are aware it means in 
Greek) had died ! 

" I had gone out, shortly before the 
sixth hour on this sixth day, to take a 
stroll in the tree-shaded suburbs of 
Heliopolis, with my friend Apollo- 
phanes. Suddenly, the sun, in a hor- 
rible manner, withdrew its light so 
effectually that we saw the stars. It 
was the time of the Hebrew Pasch^ 
and the season of the month when the 
moon is at the full, and the period of 
an eclipse, or of the moon's apparent 
conjunction with the sun, was well 
known not to be then; independ- 

ently of which, two unexampled and 
unnatural portents, contrary to the 
laws of the heavenly bodies, occurred : 
first, the moon entered the sun's disc 
from the east ; secondly, when she 
had covered the disc and touched 
the opposite diameter, instead of pass- 
ing onward, she receded, and resumed 
her former position in the sky. All 
the astronomers will tell you that 
these two facts, and also the time of 
the eclipse itself, are equally in posi- 
tive deviation from the otherwise 
everlasting laws of the sidereal or 
planetary movements. I felt that 
either this universal frame was perish- 
ing or the Lord and Pilot of nature 
was himself suffering ; and I turned 
to Apollophanes, and, ' O light of 
philosophy, glass of science ! ' I 
said, ' explain to me what this 

" Before answering me, he required 
that we should together apply the 
astronomical rule, or formula, of 
Philip Aridaeus; after doing which 
with the utmost care, he said : ' These 
changes are supernatural ; there is 
some stupendous revolution or ca- 
tastrophe occurring in divine affairs, 
affecting the whole of the Supreme 
Being's creation.' 

" You may be sure, my friends, that 
we both took a careful note of the 
hour, the day, the week, month, year ; 
and I intend to inquire everywhere 
whether in other lands any similar 
phenomena have appeared ; and what 
overwhelming, unexampled event can 
have taken place on this little planet 
of ours to bring the heavens them- 
selves into confusion, and coerce all 
the powers of nature into so awful a 
manifestation of sympathy or of hor- 

He ended by conveying to Aglais 
and Paulus the loving remembrance 
of the Lady Damarais. 
* Aglais and her son and Esther 
were soellbound with amazement 


Dion and the Sibyls. 

when this letter had been read ; and 
Paulus exclaimed : 

" What will Dion say when he 
hears that we also saw this very dark- 
ness at the same moment ; that the veil 
of the Temple here has been rent in 
twain; and that he who expired 
amid these and so many other por- 
tents, Esther, and in the full culmi- 
nation of the prophecies, is again liv- 
ing, speaking, acting, the Conqueror 
of death, as he was the Lord of life ?" 

" Let us go to Athens ; let us bring 
our friends, the Lady Damarais and 
our dear Dion, to learn and under- 
stand what we have ourselves been 
mercifully taught." 

So spoke Agiais, offering at the 
same time to Esther a mother's pro- 
tection and love along the journey. 
Paulus was silent, but gazed plead- 
ingly at Esther. 

It was agreed. But in the politi- 
cal dangers of that reign, Paulus, ow- 
ing to his fame itself, had to take so 
many precautions that much time 
was unavoidably lost. 

Meanwhile, he had again asked 
the Jewish maiden to become his 
wife. Need we say that this time 
his suit was successful ? Paulus and 
Esther were married. 

Christianity in the interim grew 
from month to month and from 
year to year, and our wanderers had 
but just arrived at last in Athens in 
time to hear, near the statue of " the 
unknown God," while Damarais, the 
friend of Aglais, and Dion, the friend 
of them all, stood near, a majestic 
stranger, a Roman citizen, him who 
had sat at the feet of Gamaliel, the 
glorious Apostle of the Gentiles, who 
had been " faithful to the heavenly 
Vision," though he had not seen the 
Resurrection, explain to the Athe- 
nians " him whom they had igno- 
rantly worshipped." And when the 
sublime messenger of glad tidings re- 
lated the circumstances of the Pas- 

sion, the scenes which had been 
enacted in Pilate's house (so well re- 
membered by them), the next day's 
dread event, and when he touched 
upon the preternatural accompani- 
ments of that final catastrophe, and 
described the darkness which had 
overspread the earth from the sixth 
hour of that day, Dionysius, turning 
pale, drew out the tablets which he 
carried habitually, examined the 
date of which, at Heliopolis, he and 
Apollophanes had jointly made note, 
and showed symptoms of an emotion 
such as he had never before experi- 

He and Damarais, as is well 
known, were among the converts of 
Saint Paul on that great occasion. 
How our* other characters felt we 
need not describe. 

Yielding to the entreaties of their 
beloved Dionysius, they actually 
loitered in Greece for a few years, 
during which Christianity had out- 
stripped them and penetrated to 
Rome, where it was soon welcom- 
ed with fire and sword, and where 
" the blood of martyrs became the 
seed of Christians." Esther shud- 
dered as she heard names dear to 
her in the murmured accounts of 
dreadful torments. 

Resuming their westward course, 
how Paulus rejoiced that he had in 
time sold everything in Italy, and 
was armed with opulence in the 
midst of new and strange trials! 
They gave Italy a wide offing, 
and passing round by the south of 
Germany, with an armed escort 
which Thellus (who had also be- 
come a Christian, and had, while 
they were in Greece, sent for Pru- 
dentia) commanded, they never ceas- 
ed their travels till they reached the 
banks of the Seine ; and there, un- 
discernible to the vision of Roman 
tyranny in the distance, they obtain- 
ed, by means of the treasures they 

Dion and the Sibyls. 

had brought, hundreds of stout 
Gaulish hands to do their bidding, 
and soon founded a peaceful home 
amid a happy colony. Hence they 
sent letters to Agatha and Paterculus. 
Two arrivals from the realms of 
civilization waked into excitement 
the peaceful tenor of their days. 
Paulus himself, hearing of the death 
of Paterculus, ventured quickly back 
to Italy, in the horrible, short reign 
of Caligula, and fetched his sister 
Agatha, now a widow, to live with 
them. Later still, they were sur- 
prised to behold arrive among them 
one whom they had often mourned 
as lost to them for ever. It was 
Dionysius. He came to found 
Christianity in Gaul, and settled, 
amidst the friends of his youth, on 
the banks of the Seine. Often they 
reverted, with a clear light, to the 
favorite themes of their boyhood ; 
and often the principal personages 
who throughout this story have, we 
hope, interested the reader, gathered 
around that same Dionysius (who is, 
indeed, the St. Denis of France), 
and listened, near the place where 
Notre Dame now towers, to the first 
Bishop of Paris, correcting the theo- 
ries which he had propounded to the 
Areopagus of Athens as the last of 
the great Greek philosophers.* 

* The Roman Breviary thus speaks of St. Dio- 
nysius : 

" Dionysius of Athens, one of the judges of 
the Areopagus, was versed in every kind of 
learning. It is said that, while yet in the errors 
of paganism, having noticed on the day on which 
Christ the Lord was crucified that the sun was 
eclipsed out of the regular course, he exclaimed : 

One other arrival greeted, indeed, 
the expatriated but happy settlement. 
Longinus found his way among them ; 
and as the proud ideas of a social 
system upon which they had turned 
their back no longer tyrannized over 
Aglais or Paulus, the brave man, 
biding his time and watching oppor- 
tunities, found no insurmountable 
obstacles in obtaining a fair reward 
for twenty years and more of patient 
and unalterable love. He and Aga- 
tha were married. 

' Either the God of nature is suffering, or the 
universe is on the point of dissolution.' When 
afterward the Apostle Paul came to Athens, and, 
being led to the Areopagus, explained the doc- 
trine which he preached, teaching that Chiist 
the Lord had risen, and that the dead would all 
return to life, Dionysius believed wilh many oth- 
ers. He was then baptized by the apostle and 
placed over the church in Athens. He afterward 
came to Rome, whence he was sent to Gaul by 
Pope Clement to preach the Gospel. Rusticus, 
a priest, and Eleutherius, a deacon, followed him 
to Paris. Here he was scourged, together with 
his companions, by the Prefect l'"escennius, be- 
cause he had converted many to Christianity ; 
and, as he continued with the greatest constancy 
to preach the faith, he was afterward stretch- 
ed upon a gridiron over a fire, and tortured in 
many other ways ; as were likewise his compan- 
ions. After bearing all these sufferings courage- 
ously and gladly, on- the ninth of October, Dio- 
nysius, now more than a hundred years of age, 
together with the others, was beheaded. There 
is a tradition that he took up his head after it 
had been cut off, and walked with it in his hands 
a distance of two Roman miles. He wrote admi- 
rable and most beautiful books on the divine 
names, on the heavenly and ecclesiastical hier- 
archy, on mystical theology ; and a number of 

The Abb Darras has published a work on the 
question of the identity of Dionysius of Athens 
with Dionysius, first Bishop of Paris, sustaining, 
with great strength and cogency of argument, 
the affirmative side. The authenticity of the 
works which pass under his name, although de- 
nied by nearly all modern critics, has been de- 
fended by Mgr. Darboy, Archbishop of Paris. 

-ED. c. w. 


Europe's Future. 



To be able to form a correct judg- 
ment regarding the future of Europe, 
there are several points and theories 
which must be previously considered. 
First on the list comes 


"THE key to the success of the 
Prussian arms in the contest with 
France is found in the decadence 
of the Latin and the virility of the 
German race. The Latin peoples 
are corrupt; their star is waning; 
their moral vigor is gone; while the 
German nations are still young and 
fresh. German culture, German 
ideas, German muscle and energy, 
are taking the place of the decrepit 
French civilization. The German 
victories are but the outward ex- 
pression of this historical process. 
We are on the threshold of a new 
epoch in the history of civilization 
of a new period which we can 
appropriately call the German era." 
Such is the theory which now pos- 
sesses the German mind, and is ex- 
pressed in the newspapers, pamphlets, 
on the railroads, and in the inns all 
through Germany, with great national 
self-complacency. Even many Scla- 
vonians and Italians adopt this view. 
The conquest of the Latin by the 
Germanic races ; the downfall of the 
former; the world-wide sovereignty 
of the latter these are high-sound- 
ing phrases which have a dramatic 
effect and are popular in Germany. 

But do they express a truth? Are 
they philosophically and historically 
correct in view of the actual condi- 
tion of political and social life ? In 
the first place, what and where are 
the Latin races about which we have 
been hearing so much during the past 
ten years ? The southern inhabitants 
of the Italian peninsula can lay no 
claim to Latin origin ; for it is well 
known that they were anciently 
Greek colonies, which have since 
intermarried with Romans, Span- 
iards, and Normans. The Lom- 
bards of the north of Italy are 
mostly of Celtic and not of Latin 
origin, since they inhabit the ancient 
Gallia Cisalpina. The old Iberians 
of Spain were not Latins; and they 
are now mixed with Gothic, Moorish, 
Celtic, and Basque blood. As for 
France, its very name imports that 
the Latins gave a very small contin- 
gent towards forming a nation which 
is certainly of Celtic and German 
origin, and many of whose provinces 
are purely of German race, as Alsace 
and Lorraine. Where, then, shall 
we find the Latin races ? 

There are none properly so-called. 
Looking at the origin of languages, 
we may, indeed, speak of Latin, or, 
rather, of Roman nations. In this 
regard, we may class the Italians, 
Spaniards, Portuguese, and French 
together, on account of the Roman 
element prevailing in their tongues, 
in opposition to the Sclavonic-Ger- 
man, the Celtic-Anglo-Saxon-Dan- 
ish-Norman forming the world-wide 
English, the Scandinavian, and the 
pure Sclavonic families. Does this 

Europe s Future. 


theory mean that nations of the same 
tongue should all be politically and 
socially united, flourish for a period, 
and then perish together? Under- 
stood in this way, the race theory 
would have few defenders. It may 
be true that nations, like indivi- 
duals, must live a definite period 
rise, flourish, and decay. It is 
true, historically, that every nation 
has an era of prosperity and an era 
of decadence. But when we come 
to the question of universal sove- 
reignty, we may ask, When did the 
Roman nations ever exercise it? 
Each of them has had its golden 
age of literature, art, science, and ma- 
terial prosperity; but none of them 
has had, for any length of time, the 
sovereignty of Europe. Not Italy, 
for instance, unless we go back to the 
days of old Rome, and then we have 
not an Italian but a specifically Ro- 
man supremacy. Not Spain, for al- 
though she exercised great power be- 
yond the ocean, and for a time pos- 
sessed a preponderating influence in 
Europe, from the reign of Charles V. 
to the first successor of Philip II., 
yet who could call the accidental 
union of so many crowns on the head 
of a Hapsburg prince a universal 
sovereignty for Spain ? Lastly, 
France had her age of glory dur- 
ing the reign of Louis XIV., whose 
influence, or that of the Napoleonic 
era, cannot be denied. Yet what 
gaps separate the reign of the great 
King from that of the great Em- 
peror! Great as was France under 
Louis XIV. and Bonaparte, she fell 
to the second rank of nations during 
the Restoration and under the July 
dynasty. As leader in the Revolu- 
tionary movement, she has always 
controlled Europe, even in her peri- 
ods of political weakness, from the 
days of the encyclopaedists to the 
present time. Even Germany ac- 
knowledges the sway of French lite- 

rature, politeness, and taste. Victo- 
rious Berlin copies the fashions and 
manners of conquered France," as 
ancient Rome, after conquering 
Athens, became the slave of Athen- 
ian civilization. 

Germany, too, must have already 
passed the period of her maturity, ac- 
cording to the race theory ; for, un- 
der the Saxon Othos, under the Ho- 
henstaufens, and Charles V., until the 
Thirty Years' War broke the strength 
of the empire, she was superior even 
to France. Does not German ge- 
nius in its peculiar walks rule the 
world now ? German science, Ger- 
man music ? Does not England, usu- 
ally considered as belonging to the 
German race, rule the commerce of 
the world ? And was not her political 
influence on the Continent until re- 
cently all-powerful ? 

No ! political sovereignty can be 
explained by no race theory. From 
the fall of the first Napoleon until 
1848, England with the powers of 
the " Holy Alliance," or rather with 
Austria and Russia, held the first 
place in European politics. From 
the beginning of 1848 until the Cri- 
mean war, England and Russia were 
in the foreground; after that war it 
was France and England ; now it is 
Prussia. These are but examples of 
the political fluctuations which follow 
each other in continual change, and 
are seldom of long duration. 

And do not the champions of the 
German race theory see that there is 
a laughing heir behind them in the 
Sclavonic supremacy ? Once admit- 
ting the race theory, we must confess 
that the Panslavist argues well when 
he says : " The Roman nations are 
dead ; the German are on the point 
of dying. They once conquered the 
world ; their present effort is the last 
flicker of the expiring light which 
points out the road to us. After 
them comes our race, with fresh vig- 

Europe's Future. 

or on the world's scene. Europe's 
future is Panslavism." 

The whole theory is radically false. 
There are no more primitive races to 
take the place of the old ones. The 
Germans are as old as the Romans ; 
or, rather, the Romans were simply 
Germans civilized before their breth- 
ren. Russia alone is young in Europe, 
but she has nothing new to give us ; 
and physical force, without a new so- 
cial or moral system accompanying 
it to establish a conquest, never pre- 
vails long. We cannot, therefore, 
judge of Europe's future by this the- 
ory of races. 

The power of regeneration must 
be sought for elsewhere. 



ONE would have thought that the 
sanguinary war of 1870 should have 
dispelled the illusions of liberalism 
for ever. By liberalism, \ve mean 
that party which believes in the prin- 
ciples of 1789, whose ideal is to have 
the middle classes, or bourgeoisie, the 
ruling power, to have society equally 
divided, to have an atheistical state, 
and to obtain eternal peace through un- 
limited material progress, which would 
identify the interests of nations. Lib- 
eralism, rationalism, and materialism 
are different names for the same sys- 
tem. A state without God, sover- 
eignty of capital, dissolution of society 
into individuals, united by no other 
bond than the force of a liberal 
parliament majority under the con- 
trol of wealth ; material prosperity of 
the middle classes, founded on gain 
and pleasure, with the removal of all 
historical traditions, all ecclesiastical 
precepts such is the dream of this 
" shopkeepers' system." Has not 
the present war dispelled the dream 

of happiness arising from mere ma- 
terial prosperity ? We doubt it. 
Notwithstanding the many hard les- 
sons which the liberal school has 
received since the days of Mirabeau 
and the Girondins, from the lawyers 
of the July dynasty to Ollivier, it 
never seems to grow wiser. It is su- 
perficial, never looks into the essence 
of things. It is in vain to charge the 
present misfortunes of two great na- 
tions on the illiberalism of Napo- 
leon and Bismarck, and thus exalt 
the merits of liberalism ; for liberalism 
or mere material prosperity was at 
the bottom of all their plans. From 
1789 to 1870, France, with few ex- 
ceptions, was governed by liberalism ; 
and the revolutions begat the natu- 
ral consequences of this system in an- 
archy and military despotism. France 
during this period has made the 
most wonderful material progress 

We read lately in a liberal journal 
that the only remedy for the rejuve- 
nation of states was " the inviola- 
bility of the individual, and respect 
for the popular will." Always the 
same emptiness of phraseology with 
these impracticable dabblers in philo- 
sophy. What will you do if the infal- 
lible " popular will " refuses to recog- 
nize the inviolability of individuals ? 
Cannot these gentlemen see that 
their system merely opens the door 
for socialism ? They take away re- 
ligion, and teach the epicurean the- 
ory of enjoyment ; they destroy con- 
stitutional forms of government, and 
base authority on the ever-shifting 
popular whim. Socialism comes af- 
ter them, and says, " You say there 
is no God, and I must have pleasure. 
I have counted myself, and find that 
I am the majority; therefore, I make 
a law against capital and property. 
You must be satisfied, for you are 
my teacher, 'and I merely follow out 
your principles to their logical con- 

Europe s Future. 




A NEW era is dawning. Not a 
mere political period, but a complete 
social change, for the actual order 
of things is disorder, a compound 
of injustice and abuses. We must 
have fraternity and equality. Away 
with the nobles; away with the 
wealthy classes ; away with property ; 
all things must be in common. The 
happiness of Europe will never be 
realized until socialism reigns su- 
preme. Such is the socialistic theory. 
But does not every one see that its 
realization is impossible, and brings 
us back to barbarism ? The right of 
property is essential to society. It is 
contrary to nature to expect that 
mankind will give up this right to 
please a whim of drones a system 
according to which the lazy and in- 
dolent would have as much right to 
property as the industrious and hard- 
working. If all is to be common 
property, who will work, who will 
strive to acquire, whose ambition will 
be aroused, whose interest excited 
for the attainment of something in 
which he will have no right or title ? 
And in fact, both liberals and socialists 
use words which they do not mean ; 
they are far more despotic when they 
get power than those whom they are 
continually attacking. At the Berne 
Congress of 1868, a socialist orator 
said : " We cannot admit that each 
man shall choose his own faith ; man 
has not the right to choose error; 
liberty of conscience is our weapon, 
but not one of our principles ! " By 
error he meant Christianity. In fact, 
ultra-radicalism is simply ultra-des- 
potism. Men blamed the despotism 
of Napoleon III.; but look at the 
despotism of Gambetta, and remem- 
ber the despotism of Robespierre 
and the " Reign of Terror." De- 

stroy religion, and you have nothing 
left but egotism. Man becomes to 
his brother-man either a wolf or a 

Socialism may indeed have its day 
in Europe's future. The logic of 
liberalism leads to it ; but it will be a 
fearful day of disorder and revolu- 
tion ; a sad day for the wealthier 
classes; but still only a day. Earth- 
quakes are possible, and sometimes 
they engulf cities ; but they pass 
away, and quiet returns. New vege- 
tation springs up on the ruins. If 
socialism ever gains Europe, it will 
vanish in virtue of the reductio ad 
absurdum ; therefore its mastery can 
never be permanent. 



SINCE neither the race theory, nor 
liberalism, nor socialism, can enable 
us to solve the problem of Europe's 
future, let us pass to other consider- 
ations, glance rapidly over the past, 
study the present external and inter- 
nal condition of the continent, in 
order to be able to form a judgment 
on the subject which we are discuss- 

The French Revolution of 1789 
had its effects all over Europe. In 
France since that date, liberalism, 
anarchy, and Byzantinism have held 
alternate sway. The Bonaparte in- 
vasions carried through the rest of 
Europe the liberal principle of 
secularization with the Code Napo- 
leon. The writings of the philoso- 
phers and encyclopaedists, and Joseph- 
ism, had prepared the way. The re- 
action of 1815 was based on Ma- 
sonic theories of philanthropism 
and religious indifferentism. The 
Emperor Alexander and the Holy 
Alliance were infected with these 
views. The revolutionary move- 


Europe's Future. 

ment in Germany, Italy, and Spain 
has since been simply against office- 
holders and the police. The in- 
fluence of religion has been ig- 
nored. Palmerston was the cory- 
phans of the liberals, and during 
his time English diplomacy played 
into the hands of all the irreligious 
and revolutionary elements in Europe. 
This unprincipled system was finally 
represented by Napoleon III., in 
whose diplomacy the theory of" non- 
intervention," of "nationalities," of 
" sovereignty of the people," were 
put forward as the types of the per- 
fection of modern society. In point 
of fact, they are mere words used as 
a cloak to cover up Macchiavellism. 
The " balance of power " theory, 
of purely material import, ruled in 
1815, but it soon gave way before 
the influences of the " liberal " doc- 
trines of humanitarianism and the 
race system. Religious convictions 
and Christian institutions were ignor- 
ed in politics, and a system of police 
substituted in their place. Greece 
received its king in consequence of 
this system which has prevailed in the 
external relations of Europe since 
1830. In 1848, the revolutions and 
insurrections in Europe were merely 
premature appearances of the social- 
istic element in liberalism. Napo- 
leon I II., by his Macchiavellian policy, 
which Guizot has happily termed 
" moderation in evil-doing," coerced 
them. He gave all the sanction of 
French power to the principles of the 
liberal school which he was supposed 
to represent. On the principle of 
" non-intervention," he prevented the 
interference of Austria and Spain in 
favor of the Holy See. He pro- 
tected the seizure of Naples and 
Sicily ; approved the invasion of the 
Papal States, and substituted, in the 
place of dynastic right and popular 
right, the colossal delusion of the 
plebiscite. On the nationality theory, 

he allowed Austrian power to be de- 
stroyed, and founded, in opposition 
to all French interests, Italian and 
German unity. 

Although very defective since it 
ignored the full claims of religion, 
still there was a fixed public law in 
Europe from 1815 to 1859. Respect 
for the minor pOAvers ; the sentiment 
of the solidarity of thrones against 
the efforts of Carbonarism and the cos- 
mopolitan revolutionary party; and 
regard for treaties, characterize that 
period. The traditions of the people 
were respected; and treaties repress- 
ed avarice or ambition; and there was 
real peace in Europe the peace of 
order, according to the beautiful ex- 
pression of St, Augustine. It is true, 
far-seeing minds saw the threatening 
cloud on the horizon of the future, and 
knew that the system of 1815 did not 
rest on the right foundations. Still, 
even mere external forms are a pro- 

But since 1859 law or treaties no 
longer seem to bind. There seems 
to be nothing fixed in the public law 
of Europe. All is whim ; might in- 
stead of right, sentiment instead of 
principle. Powers can no longer 
unite, for they cannot trust each other. 
Instead of all being united to protect 
the individual state, now all are hos- 
tile to each other. Italy insists on 
unification in spite of law and right, 
and to gain her purpose depends to- 
day on Prussia; yesterday, it was on 
France. She hates Austria, and Aus- 
tria acts as if she did not perceive 
the hatred, and will not interfere lest 
she might offend the liberals. Vienna 
is in dread of Berlin afid St. Peters- 
burg; St. Petersburg is in dread of 
Berlin. England looks jealously at 
Russia, who, meanwhile, is arming in 
grim silence, and with occasional 
manifestations of her old predilec- 
tions. France counts now for noth- 
ing. Prussia, which fifteen years 

Europe 's Future. 


ago was allowed merely by the favor 
of Austria to sit in the congress of 
the great powers, is now the only 
great military power in Europe. We 
say military, for it is not the real, the 
hidden power. As in the Greek my- 
thology grim, inexorable fate ruled 
above all the gods, so the head lodge 
of the secret societies makes of the 
Prussian leaders its blind tools ; Italy 
obeys it; Napoleon was its slave; 
Austria, its sacrifice ; and now Prussia 
also must bend the knee. Such is 
Europe ten years after the Franco- 
Austrian war: the Europe of Met- 
ternich, Nesselrode, and Wellington. 



THE revolution has changed the 
internal policy of states as well as their 
external relations. Forty years ago, 
Donoso Cortes remarked that Eng- 
land was endeavoring to introduce 
its constitution into the Continent; 
and that the Continent Avould try to 
introduce its different governmental 
systems into England. We are now 
witnesses of the truth of this obser- 
vation. Democratic ideas are gain- 
ing ground in Great Britain ; and 
bureaucracy, with its centralizing 
tendencies, is replacing the English 
theory of self-government. Military 
conscriptions, along with universal suf- 
frage, will come next. Owing to the 
extension of the franchise, the House 
of Commons is losing its aristocratic 
character, and the House of Lords 
its influence. England will go the 
way of France. 

We see what the liberal system be- 
gotten of the revolution has caused 
in France. An enervated, un- self- 
reliant, disunited generation, with- 
out traditions, organization, consis- 
tency, faith, or true patriotism, is its 

VOL. XIII. 6' 

result. The decrees of the Code 
Napoleon concerning inheritances 
have broken up families ; the de- 
partmental system has destroyed 
the provincial peculiarities in which 
lies the people's strength ; the system 
of common lodging-houses for the 
laboring classes has destroyed respect 
for authority, and afforded ready 
material for the purposes of despot- 
ism or secret societies. 

In Italy and Spain, we see the same 
spectacle. The French, led into Italy 
by the first Napoleon, brought thither 
the principle of centralization and 
a revolutionary code. After Napo- 
leon's downfall, the restored princes 
allowed too much of his system to 
remain. This arose from a want of 
judgment. The ancient municipali- 
ties were destroyed, even to some ex- 
tent in the States of the Church; 
Piedmont receiving most of the poi- 
son, and thus becoming the hearth of 
the revolution. Constitutionalism, 
anarchy, and military governments in 
Spain prove the working of revolu- 
tionary doctrines. The old freedom 
of that Catholic country, the growth 
of centuries, gives way before a nom- 
inal liberty, but a real despotism. 

In Germany, too, centralization 
carries the day. This country had 
the good fortune to be composed of 
several independent states, without 
any great central power, and the 
provincial spirit consequently re- 
mained strong. But now two un- 
German words, " unification " and 
" uniformity," expressing un-German 
tendencies, are carrying the Germans 
into despotism. Germany will be 
Prussianized, and Prussia German- 
ized, say the unificators ; but all will, 
in the end, be compelled to give way 
before the republicans and socialists. 
The high schools of Germany are all 
infected with the revolutionary doc- 
trines and Masonic ideas. 

What shall we say of Austria? 


Europe's Future. 

Thanks to " liberalism," it has dis- 
appeared, and is now a dualism in its 
government and tri-parliamentary in 
its system. 

The licentiousness of the press 
helps to destroy everything stable in 
governments. Journals without prin- 
ciple, honor, or religion, filled with 
scandals, edited by adventurers, 
whose only object is to make money 
and serve faithfully their owners, 
issue their thousands of copies daily 
to corrupt the public mind. Evil 
spreads more rapidly than good, and 
consequently the influence of the 
religious press is weak compared to 
that of the revolutionary papers, sub- 
sidized by the agents of secret socie- 
ties or by the unprincipled men of 
wealth, who readily purchase the aid 
of corrupted minds to help on their 



GOVERNMENTS have therefore ceas- 
ed to be Christian, and have become 
" liberal," that is, infidel. According 
to liberalism, religion is the private 
affair of each individual. Civil so- 
ciety should recognize no dogma, no 
worship, no God. We know well 
that this principle, from its very intrin- 
sic absurdity, cannot be practically 
carried out. For instance, God will 
be recognized when it is necessary to 
swear fidelity to a constitution, and 
the external forms of religion will be 
invoked at the opening of a new 
railroad or a session of parliament. 
But in principle the liberal state 
ignores all positive religious belief. 
Its only dogma is that a law passed 
by a majority of voters remains a 
law until the next majority abrogates 
it. This system is called "separation 
of church and state, " or " a free 

church in a free state." Then fol- 
low broken concordats in France 
and Bavaria, broken by organic 
articles ; in Baden, Piedmont, Austria, 
and Spain, destroyed by the will of 
the prince and cabinet ministers. 
Then follows a usurped educational 
system, in which the rights of the 
family and church are disregarded. 
In all of these states, more or less, 
there is a public persecution of the 
church ; a repression of her rights ; 
enthrallment of her ministers; inva- 
sion of her privileges. God is in 
heaven, consequently the church 
should confine herself to the sanctu- 
ary; that is to say, God does not 
trouble himself about the conduct of 
nations, politics, legislation, or science. 
These are all neutral affairs, over 
which his authority does not extend, 
and therefore the church has nothing 
to do with public life. So say the 
liberals. They take from God and 
give it to Coesar, the modern civil 
divinity, all that is his, except one 
thing which it is impossible for them 
to take from him, and that is con- 
science. They endeavor to estrange 
conscience from God more and more 
by education, by the press, and by 
public opinion manufactured by the 
leaders of the secret societies. Hence 
all the talk about " liberty of con- 
science. " For the same end, they 
talk of toleration, but they mane 
simply indifference, which hence be- 
comes the shibboleth of the party 
which the church unceasingly op- 

This is, in a few words, the actual 
condition of the church in European 
society. It is an unnatural condition. 
Even Macchiavelli .says : " Princes 
and republics which would remain 
sound must, before all things, guard 
the ceremonies of religion and keep 
them ever in honor. Therefore, there 
is no surer sign of the decay of a 
state than when it sees the worship of 

Europe's Future 

the Most High disregarded." Mac- 
chiavelli spoke from the lessons of 
experience and as a mere utilitarian. 
Our modern utilitarian politicians 
have not his capacity or penetration. 
They are mere superficial observers 
of fact, and cannot see that the su/n- 
mitm utile is the summum jus. This 
fault lies in ignoring the assistance of 
the supernatural order in their erron- 
eous opinion that there is no absolute 
truth. The church is not a hospital 
for diseased souls ; Christianity is not 
a mere specific for individual mala- 
dies ; but as our Lord has taught us 
to pray, " Thy kingdom come . . . 
on earth as it is in heaven," so must 
revealed truth pervade the earth; 
percolate through civil society, not 
merely in its individual members, but 
in all its natural relations, family, mu- 
nicipal, and state. This is what the 
church has taught Europe, and only 
by conforming with this teaching can 
Europe stand. Since Christianity 
came into the world, the Christian 
state is the normal condition of po- 
litical governments, and not an ideal 
impossible of realization. Undoubt- 
edly, human weakness will always 
cause many aberrations from the rule. 
But the question is not regarding this 
point, but as to the recognition of 
the rule. The sin against the Holy 
Ghost is the most grievous of all sins. 
Our Lord, always so mild and for- 
bearing toward human passions, is 
unflinchingly stern against malicious 
resistance to truth, and this has been 
precisely the great evil of our time 
ever since 1789. In the early ages, 
individuals and nations fell into 
many errors, but they never touched 
the sacred principles of religion. Lib- 
eralism and Freemasonry have caused 
the denial of truth itself. 

" Must we, then, fall back into the 
darkness of the middle ages ?" Such 
a question, while it shows little know- 
ledge of the middle ages, exhibits 

likewise a spirit of unfairness in dis- 
cussion. For our purpose, it suffices 
to show the latter. What would we 
think of a man who, on being told 
that our faith should be childlike, 
should say to the priest, " Must I. then, 
become a child again ?" Plainly, we 
would say to him : Good friend, you 
talk nonsense; for you know well 
that you cannot get again your in- 
fant body, nor blot out the know- 
ledge and experience acquired in a 
life of thirty years. But was not the 
sun the same four years ago as it is 
now ? Do not two and two make 
four now as long ago ? Did you 
not eat and drink when you were a 
child as you do now ? Some things 
are always true in all places and 
times ; and therefore we do not want 
to bring you back into the middle 
ages merely because we want to give 
the church that position which God 
has assigned to her. 

" Then you want to saddle a theo- 
cracy on the back of the nineteenth 
century ?" Let us understand each 
other. In a certain sense, a theocra- 
cy must be the aim of every rational 
being. God has appointed two or- 
ders to govern men : they are church 
and state, neither of which must ab- 
sorb the other. Theocracy is not a 
government of priests, as those ima- 
gine who have before their eyes the 
Hindoo civil systems. Let us for a 
moment forget these catchwords. 
" middle ages " and " theocracy,' 1 
and go to the marrow of the sub 

The church is the guide of con- 
sciences ; not the arbitrary teacher ot 
men, but the interpreter of revelation 
for them. St. Thomas likens the offici 
of the Vicar of Christ to that of the 
flag-ship of a fleet, which the other ves- 
sels, that is, the secular governments 
must follow on the open sea in ordei 
to reach the common haven of safe 
ty. Each vessel has its own sails 


Europe's Future. 

moves in its own way, and is ma- 
naged by its own mariners. The 
church never interferes in the appro- 
priate sphere of the secular power. 
But she warns; she advises; she cor- 
rects all civil authority when it devi- 
ates from the truth and opposes the 
revealed order. Her authority over 
the state is not direct, but indirect ; 
she teaches, but she cannot coerce; 
she must teach, for political and so- 
cial questions necessarily have rela- 
tions with dogmatic and moral sub- 
jects. The church must condemn 
wrongs, no matter by whom perpe- 
trated, whether by states or indivi- 
duals. This is all the theocratic 
power the church claims. A Chris- 
tian state will respectfully hear her 
warning voice, and thus avoid the 
danger ; while a pagan state shuts its 
ears, despises the church's admoni- 
tions, and plunges into the abyss. 

Modern paganism in civil govern- 
ments has brought Europe into her 
present miserable condition. Can 
she get out of it, or is European so- 
ciety hopelessly lost ? 



THE Franco-Prussian war of 1870 
is one of the most important events 
in the history of Europe. The pros- 
tration of France is no indication 
that she will never rise again, for in 
1807 Prussia was in a worse condi- 
tion than France is now. In 1815, 
and until the past few years, Prussia 
was last in the list of the great pow- 
ers, though now she is the first. 
France, then, in a few years may rise 
again to her full power. There are 
no more fresh, uncivilized races to 
come into Europe to take the place 
of those which are now said to be 
decaying. We have shown that li- 

beralism has reached its acme, been 
found wanting, and is dying. Its ef- 
forts in Italy, Spain, Germany, Vien- 
na, and Pesth are but the last con- 
vulsions of an expiring system. The 
natural child of liberalism socialism 
must also disappear before the com- 
mon sense of mankind. What re- 
mains ? Will there be in Europe the 
alternate anarchy and despotism of 
the Central American republics with- 
out any end ? Must we despair of 
Europe's future ? No, a thousand 
times no ! We look to the future 
with hope and consolation. 

Common sense and religion will 
win the day; Christianity has still 
the regenerating power which she 
showed in civilizing the barbarians. 
Christianity has been the principle 
of national life since the Redeemer 
established it as a world religion. 
The spiritual life must be renovated 
by truth and morality. Christianity is 
both. We Christians hope, therefore, 
for the conversion of the popular 
mind ; we begin even now. to per- 
ceive signs of regeneration, renova- 
tion, renewed energy, and vigor in 
mental convictions and civic virtues. 

God's punishments are proofs of 
his mercy. He chastises to convert. 
The first punishment of France, in 
1789, was not enough to teach her 
to repent. Louis XVIII. came to 
the throne a free-thinker instead of 
a Christian. The prostrate armies 
of Metz and Sedan are the result of 
corrupting and enervating infidelity. 
God chastises ambition and pride in 
nations as well as in individuals. The 
Republic has shown itself incapable, 
because it possessed neither honor, 
principle, nor religion. The victories 
of Prussia are a blessing of God for 
France. The Prussian army is but 
the instrument which God has used 
to punish a culprit nation a revolu- 
tionary, irreligious, and frivolous sys- 
tem of government. Victorious Ger- 

Europe s Future. 

many, too, will be taught to reflect 
when it sees the blood of its thou- 
sands of slaughtered sons, and the 
miseries which the war has entailed 
on its once happy families. Wars 
teach unruly nations to reflect. Will 
the present war suffice to humble 
Europe, and cause her to reflect ? 
We know not ; but God will send 
other chastisements if this one avails 
nothing. Dark clouds are already 
rising in the East, which may soon 
burst over Austria and Germany. 
The rod of God's anger wiU be felt 
by Austria again, for her lessons of 
1859 and 1866 have been forgotten. 
They have only made her throw her- 
self more fondly into the arms of the 
devil. In Italy, the secret societies 
will yet avenge on the house of 
Savoy the blood of the defenders of 
the Vicar of Christ. 

But the German empire has been 
re-established under a Prussian em- 
peror. Yes, but this is only an epi- 
sode in the actual crisis of the world, 
A Protestant emperor of Germany is 
entirely different from a German em- 
peror. The old German emperors 
represented the idea of the Christian 
monarchy ; the Protestant emperor 
in Berlin represents modem Caesar- 
ism. His empire cannot last long, 
for history tells us that empires of 
sudden and accidental growth lose 
rapidly the power which they as 
rapidly acquired. But is not Prus- 
sia's triumph the triumph of Pro- 
testantism in Europe ? Such a ques- 
tion is easily answered : Protestant- 
ism as a positive religion no longer 
exists in Prussia or elsewhere ; and 
Protestantism as a negation exists 
everywhere, perhaps more in some 
Catholic lands than in Prussia. On 
the battle-fields of Worth and Grave- 
lotte, the Catholic Church was not 
represented by France, and Luther- 
anism by Prussia. Catholic Bava- 
rians, Westphalians, and Rhineland- 

ers fought for Prussia, and would be 
astounded to hear that they were fight- 
ing for heresy. Priests and Sisters of 
Charity accompanied them to battle. 
W T ho, on the other hand, would call 
the Turcos Catholics ? Or the French 
officers, who never heard Mass, and 
who curtailed the number of Catholic 
chaplains to the minimum ? Were 
the French soldiers, who drilled on 
Sundays instead of going to church, 
on whose barracks, in some cases, 
was written, " No admission for po- 
licemen, dogs, or priests" were 
they the Catholic champions ? No ; 
the Christian soldier in France first 
appeared, in this war, with Charette 
and Cathelineau in the Loire army, 
demoralized and destroyed, however, 
by the mad-cap radical, Gambetta, 
and his infidel associates. In fact, 
the Prussian army was more Catholic 
than the French. The latter must 
be won back to religion from the 
enervating influences of Freemasonry 
and Voltairianism before it can re- 
gain its prestige. The only hope for 
France is in her zealous clergy, in 
the vigor of the old Catholic pro- 
vinces, and in her humiliations, which 
ought to bring repentance. 

The rustling of Catholic renova- 
tion is heard all over Europe. The 
rising generation will bring Italy 
back to the church. The spirit of 
the Tyrol and of Westphalia is 
spreading through Germany. The 
Ultramontanes in Saxony, Bohemia, 
Steyermark, show the energy of this 
renovation. The peasantry of Aus- 
tria and of a large portion of Ger- 
many are still uncorrupted. Hun- 
gary is steadfast in the faith. The 
seizure of Rome by the Sardinian 
robbers has roused the Catholic heart 
of the world and helped on the cause 
of regeneration. Where the Catholic 
faith was supposed to be crushed, 
lo ! it has raised its head defiantly. 
The deceived nations want peace, 


Bishop Timon. 

freedom, order, and authority. These 
blessings infidelity and liberalism 
have taken away. The people are 
beginning to see that the old yet 
ever young Apostolic Church alone 
can guarantee them. They will turn 
to Rome, where lives the Vicar of 
Him who said, " I am the way, the 
truth, and the life;" to Rome freed 
again from the barbarians ; to Rome 
become Roman again when it has 
ceased to be Sardinian ; to Rome 
will the people look for peace and 
order. It is Rome that tells men 
that Christ is Lord of the world; 
that he conquers ; that he governs. 
The social dominion of Christ will 
again be established. AVe shall see 
again Christian states founded on 
Christian principles and traditions, 
\\ith Christian laws and rulers. 

Whether these rulers will be kings or 
presidents we know not; but they 
will in either case consider themselves 
as mere delegates of Jesus Christ, and 
of his people, not as Byzantine des- 
pots or representatives of mob tyran- 
ny. They will understand that 
statesmanship does not consist in 
giving license to the wicked * and 
forging chains for the good. We 
shall have Christian schools, Christian 
universities, Christian statesmen. Ye 
liberals in name, well may ye 
grow pale ! The future of the world 
belongs to the principles of the Sylla- 
bus, and this future is not far off. 
We conclude with the words of Count 
de Maistre : " In the year 1789, the 
rights of man were proclaimed ; in 
the year 1889, man will proclaim the 
rights of God !" 


WE hope the day may come before 
many years when historians will see 
in the records of the struggles, mis- 
fortunes, and triumphs of the church 
a theme for the employment of bril- 
liant pens as tempting as they now 
find in the clash of armies and the 
intrigues of statesmen. Scholars have 
devoted to our records the patient 
investigation of years; the general 
history of the church has been sum- 
marized for popular reading in most 
of the principal modern languages; 
and for the use of theologians and 
students there are elaborate and cost- 
ly collections. Individual biographies 

* " The art of governing men does not consist 
in giving them license to do evil." Pere La- 

t The Life and Times of the Right Rev, John 

of saints and preachers innumerable 
have been written for the edification 
of the devout. Sketches of local 
church history, more or less com- 
plete, have occasionally appeared 
sketches, for instance, like The Catho- 
lic Church in the United States, by De 
Courcy and Shea ; Shea's History of 
the Catholic Missions among the In- 
dian tribes of America, and Bishop 
Bayley's little volume on the history 
of the church in New York. But a 
work of a different kind, 'broader in 
its design than some of these excel- 
lent and useful publications, more 
limited in scope than the dry and 

Timon^ D.D., First Roman Catholic Bishop of 
Buffalo. By Charles G. Deuther. Buffalo : pub 
lished by the Author. 

Bishop Tinwn. 

costly general histories, still awaits 
the hand of a polished and enthusi- 
astic man of letters. Why should 
not the same eloquence and learning 
be devoted to the religious history of 
the great countries of the globe that 
Macaulay, and Motley, and Froucle 
have expended upon the political re- 
volutions of states and the intricate 
dramas of diplomacy ? Why should 
not some glowing pen do for the 
pioneers of the cross what Prescott 
did for the pioneers of Spanish con- 
quest in the new hemisphere ? Pro- 
perly told, the church history of al- 
most any country of the world, of al- 
most any period in Christian times, 
would be a narrative not only of re- 
ligious significance, but of thrilling 
interest. No men ever passed through 
more extraordinary adventures, con- 
sidered even from a human point of 
view, than the missionaries who pene- 
trated into unknown lands or first 
went among unbelieving nations. 
No contest between hostile kingdoms 
or rival dynasties ever offered a more 
tempting theme for dramatic narra- 
tive and glowing description than the 
contest which has raged for eighteen 
centuries and a half, between the pow- 
ers of light and the powers of dark- 
ness, in all the different quarters of the 
civilized world. Think what a bril- 
liant writer might make of such a 
subject as the church history of Ger- 
many! Think what has yet to be 
done for the churches of England and 
Ireland and France, when the com- 
ing historian rescues their chronicles 
from the dusty archives of state and 
the gloom of monastic libraries, and 
causes the old stories to glow with a 
new light, such as Gibbon threw 
upon the records of the declining 
empire ! 

We doubt not the literary alche- 
mist will come in time, and melt 
down the dull metals in his crucible, 
and pour out from it the shining com- 

pound which shall possess a popular 
value a hundredfold beyond that of 
the untransmuted materials. No- 
where, perhaps, will the labor be 
more amply repaid than in America. 
Nowhere will the collection of ma- 
terials be less arduous and the result 
more brilliant. Our church history 
begins just when that of Europe is 
most perplexing, and to an investiga- 
tor with time, patience, and a mode- 
rate revenue at his command, it offers 
no appalling difficulties. In a great 
part of America, the introduction of 
the Catholic religion is an event with- 
in the memory of men still living. 
The pioneers of many of the states 
are still at work. The first mission- 
aries of some of the most important 
sees are but j ust passing to their reward. 
There are no monumental slanders 
upon our history to be removed ; no 
Protestant writers have seriously en- 
cumbered the field with misrepresenta- 
tions. Industrious students of our own 
faith have already prepared the way ; 
scattered chapters have been written 
with more or .less literary skill ; the 
storehouses of information have been 
discovered and partly explored ; and 
every year the facilities for the histo- 
rian are multiplied. And certainly the 
theme is rich in romantic interest and 
variety. From the time of the monks 
and friars who came over with the 
first discoverers of the country down 
to the present year of our Lord, when 
missionaries are perilling their lives 
among the Indians of the great West, 
and priests are fighting for the faith 
against the cultivated Protestants of 
the Atlantic cities, the Catholic his- 
tory of the United States has been a 
series of bold adventures, startling 
incidents, and contests of the most 
dramatic character. In the whole 
story there is not a really dull chap- 
ter. The Catholic annals of Ame- 
rica abound also with that variety 
which the historian needs to render 


Bishop Timon. 

his pages really attractive ; and 
among the great men who would 
naturally be the central figures of 
such a work, there is the widest dif- 
ference of character, the most pictur- 
esque divergence of pursuits and per- 
sonal peculiarities. Group together 
the most distinguished of the Chris- 
tian heroes who have illustrated our 
chronicles, and you have what an ar- 
tist might call a wonderfully rich va- 
riety of coloring. There are the sim- 
ple-minded, enthusiastic Spanish Fran- 
ciscans, following the armies of Cor- 
tez and Pizarro, and exploring the 
strange realms of the Aztecs and the 
Incas. There is the French Jesuit, 
building up his Christian empire 
among the Indians of the St. Law- 
rence and the Great Lakes. There 
is the gentle Marquette, floating in his 
bark canoe down the mighty river 
with whose discovery his name will 
ever be associated, and breathing his 
last in the midst of the primeval wil- 
derness. There are Jogues and Bre- 
bceuf, suffering unheard-of torments 
among the Iroquois; Cheverus, the 
polished and fascinating cardinal, 
winning the affection of the New 
P^ngland Puritans; England, conci- 
liating the Huguenots and Anglicans 
of the South. The saintly Brute, 
most amiable of scholars, most de- 
vout of savans, is a quaint but beau- 
tiful character around whom cluster 
some of our most touching associa- 
tions. Bishop Dubois, the " Little 
Bonaparte " of the Mountain ; Gal- 
litzin, the Russian prince who hid the 
lustre of his rank among the log-ca- 
bins of the Alleghanies; Hughes, the 
great fighting archbishop, swinging 
his battle-axe over the heads of the 
parsons ; De Smet, the mild-man- 
nered but indomitable missionary of 
the Rocky Mountains these are spe- 
cimens of our leaders whose place in 
history has yet to be described by the 
true literary artist. Several have been 

made the subject of special biogra- 
phies, but none have yet appeared in 
their true light as the central figures 
of an American church history. 

The book which suggests these 
remarks is a contribution of materials 
for the future historian, and as such 
we give it a cordial welcome. Mr. 
Deuther, it is true, is not a practised 
writer, and is not entirely at his ease 
in the use of our language. But he 
has shown great industry in the col- 
lection of facts, and has rescued from 
oblivion many interesting particulars 
of the early career of Bishop Timon 
in a part of the United States whose 
missionary history is very imperfect- 
ly known. Thus he has rendered an 
important service to Catholic litera- 
ture, and earned full forgiveness for 
the literary offences which impair the 
value of his book as a biography. 
The episcopacy of the estimable man 
whose life is here told was not an 
especially eventful one, and except in 
one instance attracted comparatively 
little public notice. The most con- 
spicuous men, however, are not al- 
Avays the most useful. Bishop Ti- 
mon had a great work to perform in 
the organization and settlement of 
his new diocese, and he did it none 
the less efficiently because he labor- 
ed quietly. The best known inci- 
dent of his official life the lamenta- 
ble contest with the trustees of the 
Church of St. Louis in Buffalo is not 
one which Catholics can take any 
satisfaction in recalling ; but it had a 
serious bearing upon the future of 
the American Church, and its les- 
sons even now may be reviewed with 
profit. Bishop Kenrick in Philadel- 
phia, Bishop Hughes in New York, 
and Bishop Timon in Buffalo have 
between them the honor, if not of 
destroying a system which had done 
the church incalculable injury, at 
least of extracting its evil principle. 
Mr. Deuther gives the history of this 

Bishop Tiinon. 


warfare at considerable length, and 
with an affluence of documents which, 
though not very entertaining to read, 
will be found convenient some time 
or another for reference. We pre- 
sume that most people will be inte- 
rested rather in the earlier chapters 
of the biography, and to these we 
shall consequently give our princi- 
pal attention. 

John Timon was of American birth 
but Irish parentage. His father, 
James, emigrated from, the county 
Cavan in the latter part of 1796 or 
the beginning of 1797, and settled 
at Conewago,* in Adams County, 
Pennsylvania, where, in a r'ude log- 
house, the subject of this biography 
was born on the i2th of February, 
1797, the second of a family of ten 
children. The father and mother 
seem to have been remarkably de- 
vout people, and from an anecdote 
related by Mr. Deuther we can fancy 
that the lavish beneficence which 
characterized the bishop was an he- 
reditary virtue in the family. Mr. 
James Timon called, one day, upon a 
priest whom he had known in Ire- 
land, and, taking it for granted that 
the reverend gentleman must be in 
wayt of money, he slipped into his 
hand at parting a $100 bill, and hur- 
ried away. The priest, supposing 
Mr. Timon had made a mistake, ran 
after him, and overtook him in the 
street. " My dear friend," said the ge- 
nerous Irishman, " it was no mistake. 
I intended it for you." " But," said 
the clergyman, " I assure you I am 
not in want ; I do not need it." 
" Never mind ; there are many who 
do. If you have no use for the mo- 
ney yourself, give it to the poor." 
The Timon family removed to Bal- 
timore in 1802, and there John re- 
ceived his school education, such as 
it was. As soon as he was old 

* Mr. Deuther incorrectly calls this Conevajjo. 

enough, he became a clerk in a dry- 
goods shop kept by his father ; and 
Mr. Deuther prints a very foolish 
story to the effect that he was so 
much liked by everybody that by the 
time he was nineteen " he had be- 
come a toast for all aged mothers 
with marriageable daughters," and 
had refused " many eligible and grand 
offers of marriage," which we take 
the liberty of doubting. From Bal- 
timore the family removed, in 1818, 
to Louisville, and thence in the fol- 
lowing spring to St. Louis. Here pros- 
perity at last rewarded Mr. Timon's 
industry, and he accumulated a con- 
siderable fortune, only to lose it, how- 
ever, in the commercial crisis of 1823. 
In the midst of these pecuniary mis- 
fortunes, John Timon suffered a still 
heavier loss in the death of a young 
lady to whom he was engaged to be 
married. Mr. Deuther's apology for 
mentioning this incident which he 
strangely characterizes as an " unde- 
veloped frivolity " in the life of a bi- 
shop of the church is entirely su- 
perfluous; he would have been a 
faithless biographer if he had not 
mentioned it. We may look upon it 
as a manifestation of the kindness of 
divine Providence, which called the 
young man to a higher and more 
useful life, and designed first to break 
off his attachment to all the things 
of this world. He heard and obey- 
ed the call, and, in the month of 
April, 1823, became a student of the 
Lazarists at their preparatory semi- 
nary of St. Mary's of the Barrens, in 
Perry County, Missouri, about eighty 
miles below St. Louis. 

The Lazarists, or Priests of the Mis- 
sion, had been introduced into the 
United States only six years before, and 
their institutions, founded, with great 
difficulty, in the midst of a poor and 
scattered population, were still strug- 
gling with debt and discouragement. 
The little establishment at the Barrens 

9 o 

Bishop Tinwn. 

was for many years in a pitiable con- 
dition of destitution. When Mr. Ti- 
mon entered as a candidate not only 
for the priesthood, but for admission 
to the congregation, it was governed 
by the Rev. Joseph Rosati, who be- 
came, a year later, the first Bishop of 
St. Louis. The buildings consisted 
of a few log-houses. The largest of 
them, a one-story cabin, contained in 
one corner the theological depart- 
ment, in another the schools of philo- 
sophy and general literature, in a 
third the tailor's shop, and in the 
fourth the shoemaker's. The refec- 
tory was a detached log-house; and, 
in very bad weather, the seminarians 
often went to bed supperless rather 
than make the journey thither in 
search of their very scanty fare. It 
was no uncommon thing for them, 
of a winter's morning, to rise from 
their mattresses, spread upon the 
floor, and find over their blankets a 
covering of snow which had drifted 
through the crevices of the logs. 
The system upon which the semi- 
nary was supported was the same 
that prevails at Mount St. Mary's. 
For three hours in the day the stu- 
dents of divinity were expected to 
teach in the secular college connect- 
ed with the seminary, and for out-of- 
door exercise they cut fuel and work- 
ed on the farm. Mr. Timon, in spite 
of these labors, made such rapid pro- 
gress in his studies that, in 1824, he 
was ordained sub-deacon, and began 
to accompany his superiors occasion- 
ally in their missionary excursions. 

They lived in the midst of spiritual 
destitution. The French pioneers of 
the Western country had planted the 
faith at St. Louis and some other pro- 
minent points, but they had left few 
or no traces in the vast tracts of ter- 
ritory surrounding the earlier settle- 
ments, and to most of the country 
people the Roman Catholic Church 
was no bt'iter than a sort of aggra- 

vated pagan imposture. Protestant 
preachers used to show themselves at 
the very doors of the churches and 
challenge the priests to come out and 
be confuted. Wherever the Lazarists 
travelled, they were looked at with 
the most intense curiosity. Very few 
of the settlers had ever seen a priest 
before. The Catholics, scattered here 
and there, had generally been de- 
prived, for years, of Mass and the 
sacraments, and their children were 
growing up utterly ignorant of reli- 
gion. Mr. Timon was accustomed 
to make a regular missionary circuit 
of fifteen or twenty miles around the 
Barrens in company with Father 
Odin, afterward Archbishop of New 
Orleans. The duty of the sub-deacon 
was to preach, catechise, and instruct. 
Sometimes they had no other shelter 
than the woods, and no other food 
than wild berries. At a settlement 
called Apple Creek, they made a 
chapel out of a large pig-pen, clean- 
ing it out with their own hands, 
building an altar, and so decorating 
the poor little place with fresh boughs 
that it became the wonder of the 
neighborhood. In 1824, Messrs. 
Odin and Timon made a long mis- 
sionary tour on horseback. Mr. Djti- 
ther says they went to " New Ma- 
drid, Texas," and thence as far as 
"the Port of Arkansas." New Ma- 
drid, of course, is in Missouri, and 
the Port of Arkansas undoubtedly 
means Arkansas Post, in the State 
of Arkansas, which could not very 
well be reached by the way of Texas. 
Along the route they travelled 
where they had to swim rivers, floun- 
der through morasses, and sleep in 
the swamps no priest had been seen, 
for more than thirty-five years. Their 
zeal, intelligence, graceful and impas- 
sioned speech, and modest manners, 
seem to have made a great impres- 
sion on the settlers. They had the 
satisfaction of disarming much preju- 

BisJiop Tii non. 

dice, receiving some converts, and 
administering the sacraments; and, 
after an interesting visit to an Indian 
tribe on the Arkansas River, they re- 
turned to the Barrens. About this 
time (in 1825), Mr. Timon was pro- 
moted to the priesthood and appoint- 
ed a professor at the seminary. His 
missionary labors were now greatly 
increased. Mr. Deuther tells some 
interesting anecdotes of his tours, 
which curiously illustrate the state 
of religion at that time in the West. 
One day, Father Timon was sum- 
moned to Jackson, Missouri, to visit 
a murderer under sentence of death. 
With some difficulty he got admission 
to the jail, but a crowd of men, led 
by a Baptist minister named Green, 
who was also editor of the village 
newspaper, entered with him. The 
prisoner was found lying on a heap 
of straw and chained to a post. The 
hostile mob refused to leave the priest 
alone with him ; but, in spite of their 
interference, Father Timon succeeded 
in touching the man's heart and pre- 
paring him for the sacraments. While 
they were repeating the Apostles' 
Creed together, the minister pushed 
forward and exclaimed, " Do not 
make the poor man lose his soul 
by teaching him the commandments 
of men !" and this interruption was 
followed by a violent invective against 
Romish corruptions. 

" Mr. Green," said the priest, " not 
long ago, I refuted all these charges 
before a public meeting in the court- 
house of this village, and challenged 
anybody who could answer me to 
stand forth and do so. You were 
present, but you made no answer. 
Surely this is no time for you to inter- 
fere when I am preparing a man 
for death !" 

Mr. Green's only reply was a chal- 
lenge to a public controversy next 
day, which Father Timon immedi- 
ately accepted. The minister then 

insisted upon making a rancorous 
polemical prayer, in the course of 
which he said : " O God of mercy ! 
save this man from the fangs of Anti- 
christ, who now seeks to teach him 
idolatry and the vain traditions of 

" Gentlemen," exclaimed the 
priest to the crowd which now filled 
the dungeon, " is it right that, in a 
prayer to the God of charity and truth, 
this man should introduce a calumny 
against the majority of Christians ?" 

How far the extraordinary discus- 
sion might have gone it would be hard 
to guess, had not the sheriff turned 
everybody out and locked the jail for 
the night. The next morning, the 
debate took place according to agree- 
ment, the district judge being ap- 
pointed moderator. After about three 
or four hours' speaking, Mr. Green 
gave up the battle and withdrew. 
Father Timon kept on for an hour 
and a half longer, and the result is 
said to have been a great Catholic 
revival in the community. The pri- 
soner, who had steadily refused to 
accept the ministrations of any but a 
Catholic clergyman, was baptized im- 
mediately after the debate. 

On another occasion, Father Ti- 
mon carried on a debate with a Pro- 
testant clergyman apparently a Me- 
thodist in the court-house at Perry- 
ville. The Methodist was easily worst- 
ed, but there was soon to be a con- 
ference meeting some eighteen miles 
off, and there he felt sure the priest 
would meet his match. 

" Do you mean this as a chal- 
lenge ?" 

" No ; I don't invite you. I only 
say you can go if you choose." 

Father Timon refused to go under 
these circumstances ; but, learning af- 
terward that a rumor was in circula- 
tion that he had pledged himself to 
be on the ground, he changed his 
mind, and reached the scene of the 

9 2 

Bishop Timon, 

meeting which was in the open air 
just after one of the preachers had fin- 
ished a discourse on Transubstantia- 
tion and the Real Presence. " There 
is a Romish priest present," this ora- 
tor had said, " and, if he dares to come 
forward, the error of his ways will be 
pointed out to him." So Father Ti- 
nion mounted a stump, and announc- 
ed that in a quarter of an hour he 
would begin a discourse on the Real 
Presence. This was more than the 
ministers had bargained for. They 
had been confident he would not at- 
tend. They surrounded him, in con- 
siderable excitement, and declared 
that he should not preach. Father 
Timon appealed to the people, and 
they decided that he should be heard. 
He borrowed a Bible from one of 
his adversaries, and with the aid of 
numerous texts explained and sup- 
ported the Catholic doctrine. The dis- 
cussion was long and earnest. The 
preachers at last were silenced, and 
Father Timon continued for some time 
to exhort the crowd and urge them 
to return to the true church. Which 
was, to say the least, a curious termi- 
nation for a Methodist conference 

One of the most serious difficulties 
which the pioneer missionaries had 
to encounter was the want of oppor- 
tunities of private converse with peo- 
ple whose hearts had been stirred by 
the first motions of divine grace. 
The log-dwellings of the settlers rare- 
ly contained more than one room, 
and that often held a pretty large 
family. Many anecdotes are told 
of confessions made among the corn- 
stalks in the garden, or under the 
shadow of the forest, or on horseback 
in the lonely roads. On one occa- 
sion Father Timon had been sum- 
moned a long distance to visit a dy- 
ing man. The cabin consisted of a 
single room. When all was over, the 
wife of the dead man knelt beside 

the body and made her confession, 
the rest of the family and the neigh- 
bors, meanwhile, standing out-doors 
in the rain. Then the widow was 
baptized into the church, and, as the 
storm was violent and the hour past 
midnight, Father Timon slept on the 
bed with the corpse, while the rest 
of the company disposed themselves 
on the floor. 

Ten years had been passed in la- 
bors of this kind, when, in 1835, let- 
ters arrived from Paris, erecting the 
American mission of the Lazarists 
into a province, and appointing Fa- 
ther Timon visitor. He accepted 
the charge with great reluctance and 
only after long hesitation. It was 
indeed a heavy burden. The affairs 
of the congregation were far from 
prosperous. The institution at the 
Barrens was deeply in debt. The 
revenues were uncertain. The rela- 
tions between the seminary and the 
bishop were not entirely harmonious. 
Several priests had left the communi- 
ty, and were serving parishes without 
the permission of their superiors. To 
restore discipline would be an invidi- 
ous task on many accounts. But, 
having undertaken the office, Father 
Timon did not shrink. He saved 
the college and seminary from threat- 
ened extinction ; he brought back 
his truant brethren ; he revived the 
spirit of zeal and self-sacrifice ; he 
restored harmony ; he greatly improv- 
ed the finances. In a short time, he 
made a visit to France, and returned 
with a small supply of money and a 
company of priests. On Christmas 
Eve, in 1838, he sailed for Galves- 
ton, in order to make a report to the 
Holy See upon the condition of reli- 
gion in the republic of Texas. He 
found the country in a sad state of 
spiritual destitution. The only priests 
were two Mexicans at San Antonio, 
who lived in open concubinage. 
There were no churches. There were 

Bishop Timon. 


no sacraments. Even marriage was 
a rite about which the settlers were 
not over-particular. Father Timon 
did what little he could, on a hurried 
tour, to remedy these evils ; but a 
year or two later he came back as 
prefect apostolic, accompanied by 
M. Odin, and now he was able to 
introduce great reforms. Congrega- 
tions were collected, churches begun 
in all the largest settlements, and the 
scandals at San Antonio abated. Firm 
in correction, but gracious in manner, 
untiring in labors, insensible to fear, 
making long journeys with a single 
companion through dangerous In- 
dian countries, struggling through 
swamps, swimming broad rivers the 
prefect and his assistant, M. Odin, 
travelled, footsore, hungry, and in 
rags, through this rude wilderness, 
and wherever they passed they plant- 
ed the good seed and made ready 
the soil for the husbandmen who 
were to come after them. In the 
principal towns and settlements they 
were invariably received with honor. 
The court-houses or other public 
rooms were placed at their disposal 
for religious services, and the educat- 
ed Protestant inhabitants took pains 
to meet them socially and learn from 
them something about the faith. We 
find in the account of these tours 
no trace of the acrimonious polemi- 
cal discussions which used to enliven 
the labors of the missionaries at the 
Barrens. There was little or no con- 
troversy, and the priests were invited 
to explain religious truth rather over 
the dinner-table than on the rostrum. 
At. the request of Mr. Timon, M. Odin 
was soon afterward appointed vicar 
apostolic of Texas, and sent to con- 
tinue the work thus happily begun. 

It was in 1847 tnat Mr. Timon 
was removed from the Western field 
and consecrated first Bishop of Buf- 
falo. When he had disposed all his 
affairs and made ready for his depar- 

ture, his worldly goods consisted of 
a small trunk about half-full of scan- 
ty clothing. He had to borrow mo- 
ney enough to pay his way to New 
York. But meanwhile some friends, 
having heard of his poverty, replen- 
ished his wardrobe, and made up a 
purse of $400 for his immediate 
needs. He was consecrated in the 
cathedral of New York by Bishops 
Hughes, Walsh, and McCloskey, on 
the 1 7th of October, and reached 
Buffalo five days afterward. It was 
evening when he arrived. An im- 
mense crowd of people it is said as 
many as 10,000 were in waiting for 
him at the railway station. There 
were bands of music, banners, and 
flambeaux, a four-horse carriage for 
the bishop, and a long torchlight 
procession to escort him home. It 
is reported but the biographer gives 
the story with some reserve that, af- 
ter the cortege had gone some dis- 
tance, the humble bishop was discov- 
ered, valise in hand, trudging afoot 
through the rain and mud, behind 
the coach in which he was supposed 
to be riding. In after-times he must 
have sadly compared the cordial 
greeting of his flock on this night 
with the trials, the insults, the perse- 
cutions, which he had to bear from 
some of the very same people during 
almost the whole of his episcopate. 
We shall not enlarge upon the histo- 
ry of these sad years. The scandals 
which arose from the factious and 
schismatical spirit of the trustees of 
the Church of St. Louis in Buffalo 
are too recent to have been forgotten 
by our readers. The troubles began 
while Bishop Timon was still a hum- 
ble missionary in Missouri. They 
had been quelled by the firmness of 
Bishop Hughes, but they broke out 
again very soon after the creation of 
the new diocese, and Bishop Timon 
suffered from them to the end of his 
life. Having no cathedral and no 


BisJiop Tim on. 

house, he lodged when he first arriv- 
ed with the pastor of St. Louis's, but 
he had been there only a few weeks 
when the trustees, in their mad jea- 
lousy of possible invasion of their 
imaginary rights, requested him to 
find a home somewhere else. This 
brutal behavior was the beginning 
of a long warfare. Those who may 
care about studying it will find the 
necessary documents in Mr. Deuth- 
er's book. Let us rather devote the 
short space remaining at our dispo- 
sal to a description of some of the 
charming traits of character of the 
holy man who crowned a life of inces- 
sant labor with an old age of suffer- 
ing. From the moment of his ele- 
vation to the episcopal dignity, the 
sacred simplicity of his disposition 
seems to have daily increased. If 
the anecdote of his behavior at the 
torchlight reception is not true, it is 
at any rate consistent with his cha- 
racter. Bishop Hughes declared 
that the Bishop of Buffalo was the 
humblest man he had ever known. 
Though he was very neat and pre- 
cise in everything relating to the ser- 
vice of the sanctuary, rags of any 
kind seemed to him " good enough 
for the old bishop," and it was only 
by stealth, so to speak, that his 
friends could keep his wardrobe tole- 
rably well supplied. In his visits to 
the seminary it was his delight to 
talk familiarly with the young men. 
At the orphan asylum the .children 
used to ride on his back. Visiting 
strange churches, he would kneel in 
the confessional like any other peni- 
tent. In his private and official in- 
tercourse with his clergy, it was not 
unusual for him to beg pardon with 
the utmost humility for fancied acts 
of injustice. On one occasion he 
had slightly rebuked a priest for some 
irregularity. Satisfied afterward that 
the rebuke had not been deserved, 

he invited the priest to dinner, plac- 
ed him at the head of the table, 
treated him with marked distinction, 
and afterward, taking him to his 
own room, in the presence of anoth- 
er bishop, threw himself upon his 
knees and begged to be forgiven. 
In the course of a visitation to a dis- 
turbed parish, a member of the con- 
gregation he was addressing public- 
ly spat in the bishop's face. He 
took no notice of the occurrence, but 
went on with his remarks. " Never 
shall I forget," wrote the late distin- 
guished Jesuit, Father Smarius, " the 
days of the missions for the laity and 
of the retreats for the clergy which 
I had the pleasure to conduct in the 
cathedral of Buffalo during the three 
or four years previous to his holy de- 
mise. The first to rise in the morn- 
ing and to ring the bell for medita- 
tion and for prayer, he would totter 
from door to door along the corridors 
of the episcopal residence, with a 
lighted candle in his hand, to see 
whether all had responded to the call 
of the bell and betaken themselves 
to the spot marked out for the per- 
formance of that sacred and whole- 
some duty. . . . And then, that 
more than fatherly heart, that forgiv- 
ing kindness to repentant sinners, 
even such as had again and again 
deservedly incurred his displeasure 
and the penalties of ecclesiastical 
censures or excommunications. ' Fa- 
ther,' he would say, ' I leave this case 
in your hands. I give you all power, 
only save his soul.' And then, that 
simple, child-like humility, which 
seemed wounded by even tne perfor- 
mance of acts which the excellence 
and dignity of the episcopacy natu- 
rally force from its subjects and infe- 
riors. How often have I seen him 
fall on his aged knees, face to face 
with one or other of my clerical 
brethren, who had fallen on theirs to 

Bishop Tiinon. 


receive his saintly blessing !" He 
took great pains to cultivate the vir- 
tue of humility in his clergy. A 
proud priest he had little hope for. 
To those who complained of the 
hardships of the mission, he would 
answer, " Why did you become a 
priest ? It was to suffer, to be per- 
secuted, according to the example 
laid down by our Lord Jesus Christ." 
In the strictness with which he tried 
to watch over the spiritual welfare of 
his clergy, and changed their posi- 
tions when he thought the good of 
their souls required it, his rule was 
like that of the superior of a monas- 
tery rather than the head of a dio- 
cese. He was filled to a remaikable 
decree with the spirit of prayer. He 
began no labor, decided no question, 
without long and fervent supplication 
for the divine assistance. On occa- 
sions of festivity or ceremony, He lov- 
ed to steal away to the quiet of the 
sanctuary, and under the shadow of 
a column in the cathedral to pass 
long hours in meditation. In travel- 
ling he was often seen kneeling in 
his seat in the cars. His household 
was always ordered like a religious 
community. The day began and 
ended with prayer and meditation in 
common. The bishop rose at five, 
and in the evening retired early to 
his room not to sleep, but to pass 
most of the night in devotion, study, 
and writing. Up to the very close 
of his life he used to set out in the 
depth of winter to visit distant par- 
ishes unannounced, starting from the 
house before any one else was awake, 
and trudging painfully through the 
snow with his bag in his hand. Religi- 
ous communities, when they assembled 
for morning devotions, were often sur- 
prised to find the bishop on his 
knees waiting for them. By these 
sudden visits he was sometimes en- 
abled to correct irregularities, which 

he never suffered to pass unrebuked ; 
but he used to say that in dealing 
with others he would rather be too 
lax than too severe, as he hoped to be 
judged mercifully by Almighty God. 
Mr. Deuther, in attempting to show 
that the bishop had to conquer a natu- 
rally quick temper, has created an im- 
pression, we fear, that this saintly man 
was irascible if not violent in his dis- 
position. It is most earnestly to be 
hoped that no one will conceive such 
an utterly wrong idea. Mr. Deuther 
himself corrects his own unguarded 
language, and it is only necessary to 
read the book carefully to see that 
he does not mean what at first glance 
he seems not to say, but to imply. 
Nobody who knew Bishop Tiinon 
will hesitate to call him one of the 
kindest and most amiable of men; 
whatever faults he may have had, 
nobody will think of mentioning a 
hot temper as one of them. The 
sweetness of his disposition was in 
correspondence with the tenderness 
of his heart. The patience with 
which he bore the sorrows of his epis- 
copate was equalled by the keenness 
with which he felt them. Toward 
the close of his life several anony- 
mous communications, accusing him 
of cruelty, avarice, injustice, and 
many other faults of cruelty, this 
man whose heart was as soft as a 
woman's of avarice, this charitable 
soul, who gave away everything he 
had, and left himself at times not 
even a change of linen of injustice, 
this bishop who pardoned every one 
but himself were sent him in the 
form of printed circulars. So deeply 
was he wounded that his biographer 
is assured that the incident hastened 
his death ; he never was the same 
man afterward. At the end of the 
next diocesan synod he knelt before 
his priests, and, in a voice broken by 
tears, asked pardon of every one pre- 

96 Gualbertos Victory. 

sent whom he might have in any he himself was the first to foresee, 

manner treated unjustly. He died on and his last hours were as beautiful 

the 1 6th of April, 1867, after a rapid and inspiring as his years of holy 

but gradual decay whose termination labor. 


A MOUNTAIN-PASS, so narrow that a man 

Riding that way to Florence, stooping, can 

Touch with his hand the rocks on either side, 

And pluck the flowers that in the crannies hide 

Here, on Good Friday, centuries ago, 

Mounted and armed, John Gualbert met his foe, 

Mounted and armed as well, but riding down 

To the fair city from the woodland brown, 

This way and that swinging his jewell'd whip, 

A gay old love-song on his careless lip. 

An accidental meeting yet the sun 

Burned on their brows as if it had been one 

Of deep design, so deadly was the look 

Of mutual hate their olive faces took, 

As (knightly courtesy forgot in wrath) 

Neither would yield his enemy the path. 

"Back!" cried Gaulberto. " Never!" yelled his foe. 

And on the instant, sword in hand, they throw 

Them from their saddles, nothing loth, 

And fall to fighting with a smothered oath. 

A pair of shapely, stalwart cavaliers, 

Well-matched in stature, weapons, weight, and years, 

Theirs was a long, fierce struggle on the grass, 

Thrusting and parrying up and down the pass, 

Swaying from left to right, till blood-drops oozed 

Upon the rocks, and head and hands were bruised ; 

But at its close, when Gualbert stopped to rest, 

His heel was planted on his foeman's breast ; 

And, looking up, the fallen courtier sees, 

As in a dream, gray rocks and waving trees 

Before his glazing eyes begin to float, 

While Gualbert's sabre glitters at his throat. 

" Now die, base wretch !" the victor fiercely cries, 
His heart of hate outflashing from his eyes. 
" Never again, by the all-righteous Lord, 
Shalt thou with life escape this trusty sword ! 

Gualberto s Victory. 97 

Revenge is sweet !" And upward flash'd the steel, 

But e'er it fell dear Lord ! a silvery peal 

Of voices, chanting in the town below, 

Rose, like a fountain's spray, from spires of snow, 

And chimed, and chimed, to die in echoes slow. 

In the sweet silence following the sound, 

Gualberto and the man upon the ground 

Glared at each other with bewildered eyes. 

And then the latter, struggling to rise, 

Made one last effort, while his face grew dark 

With pleading agony : " Gualberto ! hark ! 

The chant the hour you know the olden fashion 

The monks below intone Our Lord's dear Passion. 

Oh ! by this cross " and here he caught the hilt 

Of Gualbert's sword " and by the blood once spilt 

Upon it for us both long years ago, 

Forgive forget and spare your fallen foe !" 

The face that bent above grew white and set, 
The lips were drawn, the brow bedew'd with sweat, 
But on the grass the harmless sword was flung, 
And, stooping down, the generous hero wrung 
The outstretched hand. Then, lest he lose control 
Of the but half-tamed passions of his soul, 
Fled up the pathway, tearing casque and coat, 
To ease the throbbing tempest at his throat 
Fled up the crags, as if a fiend pursued, 
Nor paused until he reached the chapel rude'. 

There, in the cool, dim stillness, on his knees', 

Trembling, he flings himself, and, startled, sees 

Set in the rock a crucifix antique, 

From which the wounded Christ bends down to speak : 

" Thou hast done well, Gualberto. For my sake 

Thou didst forgive thine enemy ; now take 

My gracious, pardon for thy years of sin, 

And from this day a better life begin" 

White flash'd the angels' wings above his head, 
Rare subtile perfumes thro' the place were shed ; 
And golden harps and sweetest voices pour'd 
Their glorious hosannas to the Lord, 
Who, in that hour and in that chapel quaint, 
Changed, by his power, by his sweet love's constraint, 
Gualbert the sinner into John the saint. 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 




THE enemies of " superstition " 
had lost a good deal of ground in 
their desperate struggle against the 
events which for the last ten or twelve 
weeks had scandalized their distress- 
ed philosophy. As it had become 
impossible to deny the existence of 
the fountain whose pure streams were 
flowing before the eyes of the amazed 
people, so it was becoming impossi- 
ble to continue denying the reality 
of the cures which were being work- 
ed, continually and in many places, 
by the use of this mysterious water. 

At first the incredulous had shrug- 
ged their shoulders at the report of 
these cures, taking the simple course 
of denying them out-and-out, and 
refusing to make any examination. 
Then some skilful persons had in- 
vented several false miracles, to en- 
joy an easy triumph in refuting them. 
But they had very soon been con- 
founded by the multiplicity of these 
wonderful cures, of which a few have 
been mentioned. The facts were 
evident. They became so numerous 
and so striking that it was necessary, 
however painful it might be, either 
to acknowledge their miraculous na- 
ture or find some natural explanation 
for them. 

The free-thinkers, then, understood 
that, unless they were willing either 
to surrender or to deny in the face 
of complete evidence, it was abso- 
lutely necessary to take up some 
new line of tactics. 

The most intelligent of the clique, 

indeed, saw that things had already 
gone too far, and perceived the grave 
error which they had committed at 
the outset in denying prematurely 
and without examination facts which 
had afterward become patent and 
perfectly well established, such as 
the appearance of the fountain, and 
the cures of a great number of many 
who were notoriously incurable by 
natural means, and who were now 
to be seen going about the streets of 
the town in perfect health. What 
made the mistake worse and almost 
irreparable was that these unfortu- 
nate denials of the most well-attest- 
ed events were authentically and offi- 
cially recorded in all the newspapers 
of the department. 


THE greater part of the cures ef- 
fected by the Massabielle water had 
a character of rapidity, nay, even of 
instantaneousuess, which clearly show- 
ed the immediate action of sovereign 
power. There were some, however, 
which did not present this evidently 
supernatural appearance, being ac- 
complished after baths or draughts 
repeated a few or many times, and 
in a slow and gradual manner re- 
sembling somewhat in their mode the 
ordinary course of natural cures, 
though in reality different. 

In a village called Gez, near 
Lourdes, a little child of seven years 
had been the subject of one of these 
cures, of a mixed character, which, ac- 
cording to one's natural inclination, 
might be attributed to a special grace 
of God or to the unaided forces of 

Our Lady of Lourdcs. 


nature. This child, named Lasba- 
reilles, had been born entirely de- 
formed, with a double curvature of 
the back and breast-bone. His thin 
and almost withered legs were use- 
less from their extreme weakness ; 
the poor little boy had never been 
able to walk, but was always either 
sitting or lying down. When he 
had to move, his mother carried him 
in her arms. Sometimes, indeed, the 
child, resting on the edge of the ta- 
ble or helped by his mother's hand, 
could manage to keep himself up and 
to take a few steps ; but it was at 
the cost of violent efforts and im- 
mense fatigue. The physician of the 
place had professed himself unable 
to cure him ; and the disease being 
organic, no remedy had ever been 
resorted to. 

The parents of this unfortunate 
child, having heard of the miracles 
of Lourdes, had procured some of 
the water from the grotto ; and in the 
course of a fortnight had applied it 
on three different occasions to the 
body of the little fellow without ob- 
taining any effect. But their faith 
was not discouraged on that account ; 
if hope was banished from the world, 
it would still remain in the hearts of 
mothers. A fourth application was 
made on Holy Thursday, the first of 
April, 1858. That day the child took 
several steps without assistance. 

The bathings from that time be- 
came more and more efficacious, and 
the health of the patient gradually 
improved. After three or four weeks, 
he became strong enough to walk 
almost as well as other people. We 
say " almost," for there was still in 
his gait a certain awkwardness, which 
seemed like a reminiscence of his 
original infirmity. The thinness of 
his legs had slowly disappeared to- 
gether with their weakness, and the 
deformity of his chest was almost 
entirely gone. All the people of the 

village of Gez, knowing his previous 
condition, said that it was a miracle. 
Were they right or wrong ? What- 
ever our own opinion may be, there 
is certainly much to be said on both 
sides of the question. 

Another child, Denys Bouchet, of 
the town of Lamarque, in the can- 
ton of Ossun, had also been cured 
of a general paralysis in very much 
the same way. A young man of 
twenty - seven years, Jean Louis 
Amare, who was subject to epileptic 
fits, had been completely though gra- 
dually cured of his terrible malady 
solely by the use of the water of 

Some other similar cases had also 


IF we were not acquainted with 
the wonderfully varied forms which 
supernatural cures have assumed since 
the Christian era, we might perhaps 
be inclined to believe that Providence 
had thus disposed things at this mo- 
ment to cause proud human philoso- 
phy to catch itself in its own nets, 
and to destroy itself with its own 
hands. But let us not think that 
there was in this case such a snare 
on the part of God. He lies m am- 
bush for no one. But truth in its 
normal and regular developments, the 
logic of which is unknown to human 
philosophy, is of itself an eternal snare 
for error. 

* We think it well to say that no one of these 
cures, except that of Denys Bouchet, whom the 
physicians had pronounced absolutely and con- 
stitutionally incurable, was declared to be mira- 
culous by the episcopal commission which will be 
mentioned further on. Kor these cures, the loth, 
nth, and i6th proces verbaux of the commission 
may be consulted. Whatever the probability of 
divine intervention may be in such cases, the 
church before proclaiming a miracle requires 
that no natural explanation of the fact should 
be possible, and sets aside, without affirming or 
denying, every case in which this condition is 
not found. She is content to say Nescio. 

We shall hereafter have occasion to speak of 
the work of the commission. 


Our Lady of Lourdes. 

However this may be, the savants 
and physicians of the country hasten- 
ed to find in these various cures, the 
cause of which was doubtful, though 
their reality and progressive nature 
were well ascertained, an admirable 
opportunity and an excellent pretext 
to effect that change of base which 
the increasing evidence of facts made 
absolutely necessary. 

Ceasing, therefore, to ascribe these 
cures to such a commonplace cause 
as imagination, they loudly attribut- 
ed them to the natural virtues which 
this remarkable water, which had been 
discovered by the merest chance, un- 
doubtedly possessed. To give this 
explanation was of course equivalent 
to recognizing the cures. 

Let the reader recall the beginning 
of this story, when a little shepherd- 
ess, going out to gather some dead 
wood, claimed to have seen a shining 
apparition. Let him remember the 
sneers of the great men of Lourdes, 
the shrugging of shoulders at the 
club, the supreme contempt with 
which these strong-minded individuals 
received this childish nonsense ; what 
progress the supernatural had made ; 
and how much incredulity, science, 
and philosophy had lost, since the 
first events which had so suddenly 
occurred at the lonely grotto on the 
banks of the Gave. 

The miraculous had, if we may 
use such an expression, taken the of- 
fensive. Free thought, lately so 
proud and confident in its attacks, 
was now pursued by facts and oblig- 
ed to defend itself. 

The representatives of philosophy 
and science were none the less posi- 
tive, however, and showed as much 
disdain as ever for the popular super- 

" Well, be it so," said they, affect- 
ing a tone of good humor and the 
air of good faith. " We acknowledge 
that the water of the grotto cures 

certain maladies. What can be more 
simple ? What need is there of having 
recourse to miracles, supernatural grac- 
es, and divine intervention to explain 
effects similar to, if not even exactly 
the same as, those of the thousand 
springs which, from Vichy or Baden- 
Baden to Luchon, act with such effi- 
cacy on the human system ? The 
Massabielle water has merely some 
very powerful mineral qualities, like 
those which are found in the springs 
of Bareges or Cauterets, a little high- 
er up in the mountains. The grotto 
of Lourdes has no connection with 
religion, but comes within the pro- 
vince of medical science." 

A letter, which we take at random 
from our documents, presents better 
than we could the attitude of the 
savants of the neighborhood regard- 
ing the wonders worked by the Mas- 
sabielle water. This letter, written 
by an eminent physician of Jhat re- 
gion, Dr. Lary, who had no faith 
whatever in the miraculous explana- 
tions of the cures, was addressed 
by him to a member of the faculty : 

" OSSUN, April 28, 1858. 

" I hasten, my dear sir, to send you the 
details which you ask of me in regard to 
the case of the woman Galop of our 

" This woman, in consequence of rheu- 
matism in the left hand, had lost the 
power of holding anything with it. r Hence, 
if she wished to wash or carry a glass 
with this hand, she was very apt to drop 
it, and she was obliged to give up draw- 
ing water from the well, because this 
hand was unable to hold the rope. For 
more than eight months she had not 
made her bed and had not spun a single 
skein of thread. 

" Now, after a single journey to Lourdes, 
where she made use of the water irrter 
nally and externally, she spins with case, 
makes her bed, draws water, washes and 
carries the glasses and dishes, and, in short, 
uses this hand as well as the other. 

" The movements of the left hand are 
not yet quite as free as before the illness, 
but 90 per cent, of the power that had 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 


been lost before the use of the water from 
the grotto at Lourdes has been restored. 
The woman proposes, however, to go 
again to the grotto. I shall ask her to 
pass your way that you may see her, and 
convince yourself of all that I have said. 

" You will find, in examining her case, 
an incomplete anchylosis of the lower 
joint of the forefinger. If the repeated 
use of the water of the grotto destroys 
this morbid condition, it will be an addi- 
tional proof of its alkaline properties.* 

" In conclusion, I beg you to believe me 
vours very faithfully, 

" LARV, M.D." 

This explanation, once admitted 
and considered as certain in advance, 
the doctors were less unwilling to ac- 
cept the cures worked by the water 
of the grotto ; and from this period 
they set to work to generalize their 
thesis, and to apply it almost without 
any distinction to all cases, even to 
those which were marked by the 
most amazing rapidity, which could 
by no means be ascribed to the ordi- 
nary action of mineral waters. The 
learned personages of the place got 
out of this difficulty by attributing to 
the water of the grotto extremely 
powerful properties, such as had been 
previously unknown. It mattered 
little that they discarded all the laws 
of nature in their theories, provided 
that heaven got no profit thence. 
They willingly admitted the preter- 
natural in order to get rid of the su- 

There were among the laithful 
some perverse and troublesome per- 
sons, who by impertinent remarks in- 
terfered with the profound conclu- 
sions of the scientific coterie. 

" How," they said, " is it that this 
mineral spring, so extraordinarily pow- 
erful that it works instantaneous cures, 
was found by Bernadette when in a 
state of ecstasy, and came after her 
accounts of certain celestial visions, 

* The patient was, in fact, entirely cured at the 
second visit to Lourdes. 

and apparently in support of them ? 
How did it happen that the fountain 
sprang out precisely at the moment 
when Bernadette believed herself to 
hear a heavenly voice telling her to 
drink and bathe ? And how is it 
that this fountain, which appeared 
suddenly under the eyes of all the 
people in such very unusual circum- 
stances, yields not ordinary water, 
but a water which, as you yourselves 
acknowledge, has already cured so 
many sick persons whose cases had 
been abandoned as hopeless, and 
who have used it without medical 
advice, and merely in the spirit of re- 
ligious faith ?" 

These objections, repeated under 
many different forms, provoked the 
free-thinkers, philosophers, and sa- 
rants exceedingly. They tried to 
evade them by answers which were 
really so poor and miserable that 
they ought, one would think, to have 
hardly presented a good appearance 
even in their authors' eyes ; but then, 
to find any others was no doubt very 

" Why not ?" said they. " Coffee 
was discovered by a goat. A shep- 
herd found by chance the waters of 
Luchon. It was also by accident 
that the ruins of Pompeii were 
brought to light by the pickaxe of a 
laborer. Why should we be so much 
surprised that this little girl, while 
amusing herself by digging in the 
ground during her hallucination, 
should have come upon a spring, and 
that the water of this spring should 
be mineral and alkaline ? That she 
imagined at the moment that the 
Blessed Virgin was before her, and 
that she heard a voice directing her 
to the fountain, is merely a coinci- 
dence, entirely accidental, but of 
which superstition tries to make a 
miracle. On this occasion, as on the 
others, chance has done everything, 
and has been the real discoverer." 


Our Lady of Lourdes, 

The faithful were not, however, 
moved by this sort of argument. 
They had the bad taste to think that 
to explain everything by accidental 
coincidence was to do violence to 
reason under the pretext of defend- 
ing it. This irritated the free-think- 
ers, who, though acknowledging at 
last the reality of the cures, deplored 
more than ever 'the religious and su- 
pernatural character which the com- 
mon people insisted upon giving to 
these strange events ; and, as was na- 
tural under the circumstances, they 
were inclined to resort to force to 
stop the popular movement. " If 
these waters are mineral," they be- 
gan to say, " they belong to the state 
or to the municipality ; people should 
not use them except by the advice of 
a doctor; and an establishment for 
baths should be built at the spot, 
not a chapel." 

The science of Lourdes, forced to 
assent to the facts in this case, had 
arrived at the state of mind just de- 
scribed when the measures of the 
prefect, relative to the objects de- 
posited in the grotto, and the at- 
tempt to imprison Bernadette under 
the pretext of insanity, were an- 
nounced this attempt, as we have 
seen, having been defeated by the 
unexpected intervention of the cure, 
M. Peyramale. 


A CERTAIN and official basis for all 
these theses of the desperate adhe- 
rents of the medical theory was still 
a desideratum. M. Massy had al- 
ready bethought himself of asking 
such a basis from one of the most 
wonderful and indubitable sciences 
of the age namely, that of chemis- 
try. With this view, he had applied, 
through the mayor of Lourdes, to a 
chemist of some distinction in the 
department M. Latour de Trie. 

To show, not in detail by the ex- 
amination of each special case, but 
once for all, that these cures which 
were rising up as formidable objec- 
tions were naturally explained by the 
chemical constitution of the new 
spring, seemed to him a master- 
stroke ; and he considered that, in 
accomplishing it, he would lay sci- 
ence and philosophy under obliga- 
tion, not to mention also the admin- 
istration, represented by the minister, 
M. Rouland. 

Seeing that it was impossible to 
have Bernadette arrested as insane, 
he urged the analysis, which was to 
show officially the mineral and heal- 
ing qualities of the water. It was 
becoming imperatively necessary to 
get rid of the intrusive supernatural 
power which, after having produced 
the fountain, was now curing the sick 
people, and threatening to pass all 
bounds. Though its abominable in- 
fluence should continue strong in 
many quarters, a really official analy- 
sis might be of great service. 

The chemist of the prefecture, 
therefore, set to work to make this 
precious investigation of the water 
from Massabielle, and, with a good 
conscience, if not with perfect sci- 
ence, he found at the bottom of his 
crucibles a solution perfectly agree- 
ing with the explanations of the doc- 
tors, the reasonings of the philoso- 
phers, and the desires of the prefect. 
But was truth also as well satisfied 
with it as the prefecture, the philoso- 
phers, and the faculty ? At first, 
perhaps, this question was not pro- 
posed, but it lay in store for a future 
occasion. But, not to consider this 
for the present, let us see what was 
this analysis which M. Latour de 
Trie, chemist of the administration, 
addressed officially, on the 6th of 
May, to the mayor of Lourdes, and 
which the latter immediately forward- 
ed to the Baron Massy : 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 



" The water of the grotto of Lourdes 
is very clear, without smell or decided 
taste. Its specific gravity is very nearly 
that of distilled water. Its temperature 
at the spring is 15 Cent. (59 Fahr.) 

" It contains the following elements : 

" ist. Chlorides of sodium, calcium 
and magnesium in abundance.* 

" 2d. Carbonates of lime and of mag- 

" 3d. Silicates of lime and of alumina. 

" 4th. Oxide of iron. 

" $th. Sulphate and carbonate of soda. 

" 6th. Phosphate (traces). 

" 7th. Organic matter ulmine. 

" The complete absence of sulphate of 
lime in this water is also established by 
this analysis. 

" This remarkable peculiarity is entire- 
ly to its advantage, and entitles it to be 
considered as very favorable to digestion, 
and as giving to the animal economy a 
disposition favorable to the equilibrium 
of the vital action. 

" We do not think it imprudent to say, 
in consideration of the number ahd qual- 
ity of the substances which compose it, 
that medical science will, perhaps, soon 
recognize in it special curative properties 
which will entitle it to be classed among 
the waters which constitute the mineral 
wealth of our department. 

" Be pleased to accept, etc. 


The civil order is not so well dis- 
ciplined as the military, and, through 
misunderstanding, false steps are oc- 
casionally taken in it. The prefect, 
in the multitude of his avocations, 
had omitted to give his orders to the 
editors ot the official newspaper of 
the department, the Ere Impe'riale, 
so that, while the chemist of the pre- 
fecture said white, its journalist said 
black; while the former was recog- 
nizing in the spring at Lourdes one 
of the future medical and mineral 
treasures of the Pyrenees, the latter 

* The presence of chloride of sodium (common 
salt"), to say nothing of the others, in abundance, 
without a decided taste in the water, is a little 
mysterious. The original reads: " Ch.orures de 
soude, de chaux et de magnesie: abondants." 

was calling it dirty water, and jok- 
ing about the cures which had been 

" It is needless to say," he wrote 
on the precise day on which M. La- 
tour de Trie sent in his report that 
is, on the 6th of May " that the 
famous grotto turns out miracles in 
abundance, and that our department 
is inundated with them. At every 
corner you will meet with people 
who tell you of a thousand cures 
obtained by the use of some dirty 

" The doctors will soon have noth- 
ing to do, and the rheumatic and 
consumptive people will have disap- 
peared from the department," etc. 

Notwithstanding these discrepan- 
cies, which might have been avoided, 
it must be acknowledged that Baron 
Massy was, on the whole, attentive 
to his business. On the 4th of May, 
at about noon, he had delivered his 
address to the mayors of the canton 
of Lourdes, and given his orders. 
On the 4th of May, in the evening, 
the grotto had been stripped of the 
offerings and ' ex-wtos. On the 
morning of the 5th, he had ascertain- 
ed the impossibility of having Berna- 
dette arrested, and had abandoned 
this measure. On the 6th, in the 
evening, he received the analysis of 
his chemist. Fortified with this im- 
portant document, he waited the 
course of events. 

What was about to take place at 
Lourdes ? What would happen at 
the grotto ? What would be done 
by Bernadette, whose every move-, 
ment was watched by the Argus eyes 
of Jacomet and of his agents ? Would 
not the fountain at the grotto disap- 
pear in the coming hot weather, and 
thus put an end to the whole busi- 
ness ? What attitude would the peo- 
ple assume ? Such were the hopes 
and anxieties of the Baron Massy, 
imperial prefect. 


Our Lady of Lourdes. 


AT the grotto the miraculous foun- 
tain continued to flow, abundant and 
clear, with that character of quiet 
perpetuity which is generally found 
in springs coming from the rock. 

The supernatural apparition did 
not cease to assert its existence, and 
to prove it by benefits conferred. 

The grace of God continued to 
descend visibly and invisibly upon the 
people, sometimes quick as the light- 
ning which flashes through the clouds, 
sometimes gradual like the light of 

We can only speak of those graces 
which were external and manifest. 

At six or seven kilometres (four 
miles) from Lourdes, at Loubajac, 
lived a good woman, a peasant, who 
had formerly been accustomed to la- 
bor, but whom an accident had for 
eighteen months past reduced to a 
most painful inaction. Her name 
was Catherine Latapie-Chouat. In 
October, 1856, having climbed an 
oak to knock down some acorns, she 
had lost her balance, and suffered a 
violent fall, Avhich caused a severe 
dislocation of the right arm and 
hand. The reduction as is stated 
in the report and the official state- 
ment, which are now before us 
though performed immediately by 
an able surgeon, and though it 
nearly restored the arm to its normal 
state, had nevertheless not prevent- 
ed an extreme weakness in it. The 
most intelligent and continuous treat- 
ment had been ineffectual in remov- 
ing the stiffness of the three most im- 
portant fingers of the hand. The 
thumb and first two fingers remained 
obstinately bent and paralyzed, so 
that it was impossible either to 
straighten them or to enable them to 
move in the least. The unfortunate 
peasant, still young enough for much 
labor, for she was hardly thirty-eight, 

could not sew, spin, knit, or take care 
of the house. The doctor, after having 
treated her case for a long time with- 
out success, had told her that it was 
incurable, and that she must resign 
herself to give up the use of that 
hand. This sentence, from such a 
reliable authority, was for the poor 
woman the announcement of an irre- 
parable misfortune. The poor have 
no resource but work ; for them com- 
pulsory inaction is inevitable misery. 

Catherine had become pregnant 
nine or ten months after the accident, 
and her time was approaching at the 
date of our narrative. One night she 
awaked with a sudden thought or in- 
spiration. " An interior spirit," to 
quote her own words to myself, 
" said to me as it were with irresis- 
tible force, ' Go to the grotto ! go to 
the grotto, and you will be cured !' " 
Who this mysterious being was who 
spoke thus, and whom this ignorant 
peasant ignorant at least as far as 
human knowledge is concerned 
called a " spirit," is no doubt known 
by her angel guardian. 

It was three o'clock in the morn- 
ing. Catherine called two of her 
children who were large enough to 
accompany her. 

" Do you remain to work," said 
she to her husband. " I am going 
to the grotto." 

" In your present condition it is 
impossible," replied he ; " to go to 
Lourdes and return is full three 

" Nothing is impossible. I am go- 
ing to get cured." 

No objection had the least effect 
upon her, and she set out with her 
two children. It was a fine moon- 
light night ; but the awful silence, 
occasionally broken by strange and 
mysterious sounds, the solitude of 
the plains only dimly visible, and 
seemingly peopled by vague forms, 
terrified the children. They trem- 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 


bled, and would have stopped a<- eve- 
ry step had not Catherine reassured 
them. She had no fear, and felt that 
she was going to the fountain of 

She arrived at Lourdes at day- 
break, and happened to meet Berna- 
dette. Some one telling her who it 
was, Catherine, without saying 
anything, approached the child 
blessed by the Lord and beloved by 
Mary, and touched her dress hum- 
bly. Then she continued her jour- 
ney to the rocks of Massabielle, where, 
in spite of the early hour, a great 
many pilgrims were already assembled 
and were on their knees. 

Catherine and her children also 
knelt and prayed. Then she rose, 
and quietly bathed her hand in the 
marvellous water. 

Her fingers immediately straight- 
ened, became flexible, and under her 
control. The Blessed Virgin had 
cured the incurable. 

What did Catherine do ? She was 
not surprised. She did not utter a 
cry, but again fell on her knees, and 
gave thanks to God and to Mary. 
For'the first time for eighteen months, 
she prayed with her hands joined, and 
clasped the resuscitated fingers with 
the others. 

She remained thus for a long time, 
absorbed in an act of thanksgiving. 
Such moments are sweet ; the soul is 
glad to forget itself, and thinks that 
it is in Paradise. 

But violent sufferings recalled Ca- 
therine to the earth this earth of 
sighs and tears, where the curse pro- 
nounced upon the guilty mother of 
the human race has never ceased to 
be felt by her innumerable posterity. 
We have said that Catherine was 
very near her confinement, and as 
she was still upon her knees she 
found herself suddenly seized by the 
terrible pains of childbirth. She 
shuddered, seeing that there would 

be no time to go even to Lourdes, 
and that her delivery was about to 
occur in the presence of the surround- 
ing multitude. And for a moment 
she looked around with terror and 

But this terror did not last long. 

Catherine returned to the Queen 
whom nature obeys. 

"Good Mother," said she simply, 
" you have just shown me so great a 
favor, I know you will spare me the 
shame of being delivered before all 
these people, and at least grant that 
I may return home before giving birth 
to my child." 

Immediately all her pains ceased, 
and the interior spirit of whom she 
spoke to us, and who, we believe, was 
her angel guardian, said to her: 

" Do not be alarmed. Set out 
with confidence ; you will arrive safe- 


" Let us go home now," said Ca- 
therine to her two children. 

Accordingly she took the road to 
Loubajac, holding them by the hand, 
without intimating to any one her 
critical state, and without showing 
any uneasiness, even to the midwife 
of her own village, who happened to 
be there in the midst of the crowd 
of pilgrims. With inexpressible hap- 
piness she quietly traversed the long 
and rough road which separated 
her from home. The two children 
were not afraid of it now ; the sun 
was risen, and their mother was 

As soon as she returned, she wish- 
ed still to pray ; but immediately her 
pains returned. In a quarter of an 
hour she was the mother of a third 

* The reader will perhaps like to see the re- 
ports of the episcopal commission on this case : 

" Hardly had Catherine Latapie-Chouat plung- 
ed her hand into the water, than she felt herself 
to be entirely cured ; her fingers recovered their 
natural suppleness and elasticity, so that she 
could quickly open and shut them, and use them 


Our Lady of Lourdcs. 

At the same time, a woman of La- 
marque, Marianne Garrot, had been 
relieved in less than ten days, merely 
by lotions with the water from the 
grotto, of a white eruption which had 
covered her Avhole face, and which 
for two years had resisted all treat- 
ment. Dr. Amadou, of Pontacq, her 
physician, was satisfied of the fact, 
and was an incontestable witness of 
it subsequently before the episcopal 

with as much ease as before t'ho accident of Oc- 
tober, 1856. 

" From that time she has had no more trouble 
with them. 

" The deformity of the hand of Catherine La- 
tapie, and the impossibility of using it. being due 
to an anchylosis of the joints of the fingers, and 
to a complete lesion of the nerves or the flexor 
tendons, it is certain that the case was a very se- 
rious one; as also by the uselessness of all the 
means of cure used during eighteen months, and 
by the avowal of the physician, who had declar- 
ed to this woman that her condition was irreme- 

" Nevertheless, in spite of the failure of such 
long and repeated attempts, the employment of 
various active healing agents, and the statement 
of the physician, this severe lesion disappeared 
immediately. Now, this sudden disappearance 
of the infirmity, and restoration of the fingers to 
their original state, is evidently beyond and 
above the usual course of nature, and of the laws 
which govern the efficacy of its agents. 

" The means by which this result has been 
brought about leave no doubt in this respect, 
and establish this conclusion incontestably. In 
fact, it has been averred (a) that the Massabielle 
water is of an ordinary character, without the 
lesfst curative properties. It cannot, then, by its 
natural action, have straightened the fingers of 
Catherine Latapie and restored their suppleness 
and agility, which had not been accomplished by 
the scientific remedies which were so vari- 
ous and used for so long a time. The wonderful 
result, then, which the mere touch of this water 
immediately produced, cannot be ascribed to it, 
but we must rise to a superior cause, and do hom- 
age for it to. a supernatural power, of which the 
water of Massabielle has been, as it were, the veil 
and inert instrument. 

" Besides, if ordinary water had been possessed 
of such a prodigious power, Catherine Latapie 
would have experienced its effect long before by 
the daily use which she made of it in washing 
herself and her children ; for she had daily em- 
ployed for this purpose water exactly similar to 
that at the grotto." Extract from the i*,th pro- 
ds-verbal of the commission. 

(a) This was, in fact, authentically averred, the 
administrative analysis to the contrary notwith- 
standing, at the time of \}e& proces-verbaux of the 

* We will also give the conclusions of the com- 
mission on this point. 
" An eruptive affection of this sort might not of 

At Borderes, near Nay, the widow 
Marie Lanou-Domenge, eighty years 
old, had been for three years a sufferer 
from an incomplete paralysis in the 
whole left side. She could not take 
a step without assistance, and was 
unable to do any work. 

Dr. Poueymiroo, of Mirepoix, af- 
ter having ineffectually used some 
remedies to restore life in the palsied 
parts, though continuing his visits, 
had abandoned medical treatment of 
the case. 

Hope, however, is with difficulty 
extinguished in the hearts of the sick. 

" When shall I get well ?" the good 
woman would say to Dr. Poueymi- 
roo, every time that he came. 

" You will get well when the good 
God sees fit," was the invariable reply 
of the doctor, who was far from suspect- 
ing the prophetic nature of his words. 

" Why should I not believe what 

itself have a very grave character, nor threaten 
serious danger or disastrous consequences. 
Still, that from which Marianne Garrot had suf- 
fered would indicate by its duration, by its resis- 
tance to the treatment which had been prescrib- 
ed and faithfully followed, and by its continual 
and progressive spreading, a very decidedly ma- 
lignant character, the inoculation, so to speak, of 
a deeply seated virus, to expel which would re- 
quire long and persevering attention, with a pa- 
tient continuance of the treatment already adopt- 
ed or of some other more appropriate and effec- 
tual one. 

"The rapid though not instantaneous disappear- 
ance of the white eruption from the face of the 
patient is very different from the usual effect of 
chemical preparations ; for the first lotion produc- 
ed a perceptible improvement or partial cure 
instantaneously, which was advanced by the 
second, made four days afterward; and without 
the aid of any other remedy, these two lotions 
accomplished a complete restoration in a few 
days by a gradual and rapid progress. 

"Now, the liquid the employment of which pro- 
duced this speedy effect was nothing but water, 
without any special properties, and without any 
relation or appropriateness to the disease which 
it overcame ; and which, besides, if it had possess- 
ed any such qualities, would long before have 
produced the effect through the daily use which 
the patient made of it for drinking and washing. 

"This cure cannot, then, be ascribed to the na- 
tural efficacy of the Massabielle water, and a 1 
the circumstances, as it would seem namely, the 
tenacity and activity of the eruption, the rapidity 
of the cure, and the inappropriateness of the ele- 
ment which brought it about concur to show in 
it a cause foreign and superior to natural agents." 
Extract from the \^th frocks-verbal of the 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 


he says, and throw myself direct- 
ly on the divine goodness ?" said the 
old peasant woman one day to her- 
self, when she heard people talking 
of the fountain of Massabielle. 

Accordingly, she sent some one to 
Lourdes to get at the spring itself a 
little of this healing water. 

When it was brought to her, she 
was much excited. 

" Take me out of bed," said she, 
" and hold me up." 

They took her out, and dressed 
her hurriedly. Both the actors and 
spectators in this scene were some- 
what disturbed. 

Two persons held her up, placing 
their hands under her shoulders. 

A glass of water from the grotto 
was presented to her. 

She extended her trembling hand 
toward the quickening water and 
dipped her fingers in it. Then she 
made a great sign of the cross on 
herself, raised the glass to her lips, 
and slowly drank the contents, no 
doubt absorbed in fervent and silent 

She became so pale that they 
thought for the moment that she was 
going to faint. 

But while they were exerting them- 
selves to prevent her from falling, she 
rose with a quick and joyful move- 
ment and looked around. Then 
she cried out with a voice of tri- 
umph : 

" Let me go quick ! I am cured." 

Those who were holding her with- 

drew their arms partially and with 
some hesitation. She immediately 
freed herself from them, and walked 
with as much confidence as if she 
had never been ill. 

Some one, however, who still had 
some fear of the result, offered her a 
stick to lean on. 

She, looked at it with a smile ; then 
took it and contemptuously threw it 
far away, as a thing which was no 
longer of use. And from that day, 
she employed herself as before in 
hard out-door work. 

Some visitors, who came to see 
her and to convince themselves of the 
fact, asked her to walk in their pres- 

" Walk, did you say ? I will run 
for you!" And, true to her word, 
she began to run. 

This occurred in the month of 
May. In the following July, the 
people pointed out the vigorous oc 
togenarian as a curiosity, as she mow- 
ed the grain, and was by no means 
the last in the hard labors of the 

Her physician, the excellent Dr. 
Poueymiroo, praised God for this 
evident miracle, and subsequently, 
with the examining commission, sign- 
ed the proces-verbal on the extraor- 
dinary events which we have just 
related, in which he did not hesitate 
to recognize " the direct and evident 
action of divine power." * 

* Ninth proces-verbal of the commission. 



Our Northern Neighbors. 


IN the adjustment of differences 
to which conflicting interests or a 
spirit of rivalry may give birth, gov- 
ernments, like individuals, are prone 
to satisfy themselves with conven- 
tions limited to matters immediately 
in dispute. They are like medical 
doctors, who treat symptoms as the 
malady to be cured, and, satisfied 
with alleviating present pain, leave 
its causes to war against mortal life, 
until disease becomes chronic and in- 

Whether the labors of the Joint 
High Commission, now sitting in 
Washington, will be of this descrip- 
tion, remains to be seen; but 
such, it appears to us, has been 
the character of treaties or conven- 
tions affecting commercial relations 
with our Canadian and provincial 
neighbors. They seem not to have 
been founded upon any intelligent 
consideration of the wants of con- 
tracting parties, but, presuppos- 
ing that there must be conflicting 
interests, are devised to prevent rival 
industries from merging in unfriend- 
liness and strife. We ask, then, 
whether these rival interests have le- 
gitimate existence. The answer to 
this question will be derived from an 
examination of the statistics of the 
two countries their agricultural and 
other products their climatic and 
social conditions, and the commer- 
cial relations actually subsisting be- 
tween them, as well as those which 
both sustain to other countries and 

The productions of a country are 
properly classified according to the 
sources whence they are derived. 

We have, then, five distinct classes 
of products, namely : The natural 

productions of the sea, the earth, the 
forest, and the results of industry 
applied to agriculture and manufac- 

Let us now turn to the map of 
British America. Beginning at the 
east, the waters of Newfoundland and 
the Gulf of St. Lawrence are rich in 
fisheries. They yield salmon, mac- 
kerel, codfish, haddock, ling, herring, 
and oysters, in great abundance. 
Newfoundland has not enough of 
agriculture to save its own popula- 
tion from absolute suffering when 
there is a failure in the catch of fish 
along its shores. It possesses rich 
though undeveloped deposits of cop- 
per, iron, and other ores. Prince 
Edward Island, in the centre of the 
mackerel fisheries, is, perhaps, more 
favored by nature than the other ma- 
ritime provinces. Every acre of its 
surface may be reckoned as arable 
land. Its agriculture, always limited 
to the growth of hay, oats, potatoes, 
and turnips, is only partially deve- 
loped, though even now yielding 
a considerable surplus for export. 
Its forests are exhausted of timber. 
And though, from habit, its people 
still continue to build wooden ships 
to send " home " for sale, they are 
obliged to import the material for 
their construction. The southern 
part of Nova Scotia contains a con- 
siderable portion of good farm lands ; 
yielding the invariable crops of hay, 
oats, potatoes, and turnips. In 
some districts, apples and pears, 
of excellent quality, are grown in 
abundance. The eastern portion, 
especially the island of Cape Bre- 
ton, is rich in coal, lime, freestone, 
and marble ; all so placed as to be 
easily accessible to commerce. Even 

Our NortJiern Neighbors. 


now, despite protective duties on co- 
lonial products, the streets of some 
of our Atlantic cities are lighted 
with gas from Nova Scotia coal. 

Gold has been found in sufficient . 
quantity to afford opportunity for 
speculation, but not for profit. The 
yield for 1867 was 27,583 oz. = 
413,745; for 1868, 20,541 oz. = 
308,115. The same amount of 
capital applied to the growing of po- 
tatoes would doubtless afford a much 
larger return. Coal is the most im- 
portant mineral product; and its 
chief market is found in the United 
States. The net amount mined in 
one year was 418,313 tons; sold 
for home consumption and to neigh- 
boring colonies, 176,392 tons; sent 
to the United States, 241,921 tons. 

New Brunswick offers the same 
agricultural products as the neigh- 
boring provinces of Prince Edward 
Island and Nova Scotia. A great 
part of its territory, like the northern 
part of Maine, is cold, rocky, and 
inarable. But its forests yield large 
quantities of pine lumber, oak, beech, 
maple, and other valuable woods, 
and bark for tanning leather. This 
source of wealth is, however, rapidly 
failing. The forests begin to give 
evidence of exhaustion. St. John 
already asks what shall be her re- 
source when the lumber is gone. 
Formerly, ship-building was a large 
interest in these lower provinces. 
But from the growing scarcity of 
ship timber, as well as from the more 
general use of iron vessels, it has 
been declining from year to year. 

We see, then, what these provin- 
ces can now contribute to commerce ; 
and we also see their prime deficien- 
cy. They cannot supply their peo- 
ple with bread. That comes from 
Canada and the United States. 
But Canada does not want their 
mackerel or other fish, their oats, 
potatoes, turnips, or hay. She wants 

money ; and for want of a near- 
er market, the surplus oats must 
be sent upon a very doubtful ven- 
ture across the ocean, the macke- 
rel to the United States, and the 
dried fish to the West Indies and 
Brazil, to get money to pay for Ca- 
nadian bread. But time is money. 
It is more than money it is life. 
And when we take into account the 
loss of time in going to and fro across 
the ocean, and the great expenditure 
of unproductive labor that is required 
by this selling to Peter on one side 
of the world to pay Paul on the oth- 
er, Ave cannot help believing that the 
poor provincial pays a high price for 
bread to' eat and clothes to wear, as 
well as for the various products of 
other lands which, from being only 
conveniences, have become the ne- 
cessaries of life. 

We come now to the Province 
of Quebec prior to the Dominion, 
called Canada East. Nearly all her 
territory lies north of the forty-sixth 
parallel of latitude. Need we say that 
agriculture, save for the few and slen- 
der productions of cold climates, is 
here impossible ? For nearly seven 
months of the year the greater part 
of her rivers and harbors are closed 
to commerce by bars of impenetra- 
ble ice. The soil, and every industry 
relating to it, is under the dominion 
of frost. 

The forests of timber may be acces- 
sible despite the snows of winter, and 
in the early spring her people may 
hunt seals along the coasts of Labra- 
dor; but during the long period of 
actual winter, her agriculturists, near- 
ly her whole industrial population, 
must be employed upon indoor la- 
bor, or be left to hibernate in posi- 
tive idleness. It is simply impossi- 
ble that agriculture can ever be a 
successful industry in so rigorous a 
climate as that of Quebec. 

Going westward through what 


Our Northern Neighbors. 

was once called Canada West, now 
the Province of Ontario, we find a 
peninsula bounded by the St. Law- 
rence River, Lake Ontario, and Lake 
Erie, on the south and east ; and by 
Lakes St. Clair and Huron, with their 
connecting straits, on the west. This 
peninsula, south of 45 N., comprises 
the wheat-growing lands of Canada 
east of Lake Winnipeg. Its area is 
something less than that of the State 
of New York. It produces good crops 
of wheat and other cereals, and near- 
ly all vegetables and fruits grown in 
our northern and northwestern states. 
Farther west, we have the valleys of 
the Saskatchawan and its tributaries, 
capable of producing cereals, grasses, 
potatoes, and other vegetables. But 
our information, derived from mis- 
sionaries and others long resident in 
that region, induces the belief that it 
is mere folly to regard a country in 
whose streams the fish lie torpid, and 
where the snow-fall is not enough to 
protect the land from killing frosts, 
in winter, as suited to the growth of 
cereals for export, or as capable of 
giving bread to any considerable 

Much has been said and written 
concerning the territory lying on the 
Pacific coast. We believe it is well 
ascertained that the climate of Bri- 
tish Columbia west of the mountains 
we might well add the southeast 
coast of Alaska is as mild as that of 
the state of New York. Unfortu- 
nately, it is very much more moist; 
so much more that it never can be- 
come a good agricultural country. 
The reason is so obvious that one is 
hardly disposed to question the asser- 
tion. The vast accumulations of ice 
and snow in and immediately north 
of Behring Strait, and on the high 
mountain range lying on the east side 
of this territory, must produce intense 
cold when the wind blows from the 
north and east. When the warm air 

comes from the southwest, the whole 
atmosphere must resemble a vapor- 
bath. Seeds may readily germinate ; 
but can they produce ripe crops ? 

We have recently discussed this 
subject with a friend who has had 
intimate personal acquaintance with 
this coast for more than ten years, 
and we but reiterate his assertion 
in saying that, north of Oregon, ag- 
riculture is not a safe reliance for the 
support of a colony. We do not 
doubt that hay, oats, and potatoes 
will grow there. It is well known 
that they may grow where the sub- 
soil is everlasting ice. But we know 
that agriculture cannot be profitable 
either there or where the heats of 
summer last just long enough to melt 
the snows on adjacent mountains 
and convert the soil to mud. There 
must always be an excess of mois- 
ture to contend with in maturing 
crops. Our information as to the 
fact is positive. But suppose that, 
in process of time, by the clearing 
of forest lands, and other causes in- 
cident to the peopling and cultiva- 
tion of the soil, these difficulties were 
overcome. Does any one believe 
that the products of the land could 
be carried by rail and inland wa- 
ters through a distance of three 
thousand miles, and two or three 
thousand more by sea, and, after 
successive reshipments, at last pay 
the producer save in cumulation of 
expenses added to the original cost 
of goods received in . return ? If, 
then, this far western country should 
ever have an excess of food or other 
commodities, they must find a readi- 
er market than either the far-off 
country of eastern Canada or more 
distant lands can afford. Its trade 
must be with the neighboring states . 
of Washington, Oregon, and Califor- 
nia. Will the people, on either side, 
long consent to pay tribute to gov- 
ernment officials for the privilege 

Our Northern Neighbors. 

i n 

of exchanging the fruits of their 

Were they really of different races 
distinct in language, manners, and 
customs beyond the degree that al- 
ways makes the dwellers in one vil- 
lage imagine its " excellent society " 
a little superior to that of the neigh- 
boring hamlet we might say, yes ! 
But knowing, as we do, that they 
are by race, by conditions of soil 
and climate, and by reason of mutu- 
al interests, but one people, we do 
no.t believe it. 

Let us now glance at the map of 
the United States. Leaving out 
Maine, northern New Hampshire, 
and Vermont, in the northeast ; the 
narrow belt north of the 48th paral- 
lel, between Lake Superior and the 
Pacific Ocean, in the northwest; 
Florida, Louisiana, and southern 
Texas in the south; the whole vast 
area between the 32d and 46th par- 
allels of latitude, from the Atlantic 
to the Pacific Ocean in extent equi- 
valent to three-fourths of all Europe 
is suited to the production of wheat, 
rye, barley, Indian corn, oats, hay, 
potatoes, and every fruit found in 
temperate climates. There are no 
frosts to render agriculture a mere 
speculative enterprise ; no bonds of 
ice to close the ports to commerce. 
Seed-time and harvest may be count- 
ed upon as certainly as the succes- 
sion of seasons. Can there be a 
doubt that here the material inte- 
rest forming the basis of all others 
is agriculture ? We have no exact 
data for a comparison of the several 
products of the United States and 
British America ; but for our imme- 
diate purpose it is quite unnecessary 
to present tables of statistics. We 
refer only to chief products. First 
of those common to both countries, 
the productions of the United States 
are to the productions of Canada 
and the Lower Provinces as 13 to i. 

The whole agricultural products of 
the United States, excluding those 
of orchards, vineyards, and gardens 
which would present a still wider 
difference are to those of Canada 
as 15 to i. The annual yield of In- 
dian corn in the United States is 
worth upwards of $800,000,000, or 
about five times the entire value of 
the agricultural product of British 
America. If we include in the com- 
parison the values of animals and 
animal products, orchards, vineyards, 
and gardens, the proportion is some- 
thing nearer 30 to i, while the breadth 
of improved land is not as 10 to i. 
And this while the breadth of our 
improved land is not more than one- 
thirteenth of our territory though 
double the whole area of Great Bri- 
tain and Ireland and while any 
great expansion of agriculture in Ca- 
nada is forbidden by the conditions 
of soil and climate. Are not these 
considerations sufficient to show the 
absurdity of persistence in the de- 
velopment of rivalry in agricultural 
and commercial interests ? Do we 
not see that in the United States 
agriculture is legitimately the great- 
est industrial interest, and that in 
Canada it is not? And we may 
well ask why the industrial popula- 
tion of Canada should not be em- 
ployed in utilizing its timber and 
other products of the forest and the 
mine, or, where material is more rea- 
dily found in the neighboring coun- 
try, using the forces so abundantly 
provided by their inland waters and 
mines of coal, as well as by the mus- 
cle half-wasted for want of use, in 
supplying fabrics which they now 
import, and pay for by the scanty 
labors of just half the time that God 
has given them ? These considera- 
tions are in some degree applicable 
to New England. The difference is, 
that New England knows it, and acts 
upon the knowledge. 


Our Northern Neighbors. 

Manufacturing is the appropriate 
industry of cold climates. When this 
is acknowledged, hibernation ceases. 
The people are no longer forced to 
eke out a meagre existence in winter 
upon the slender profits of toil spent 
in contention with chilling winds and 
frosts. True, Canada a small part 
of it produces bread for export. 
We know it: and we also know that 
every loaf costs twice as much, in 
human toil, as the better loaf yielded 
by the more generous soils and ge- 
nial suns of Illinois, Minnesota, Iowa, 
New York, Ohio, Maryland, Virgi- 
nia, and California. Canada pro- 
duces good beef, mutton, pork, and, 
of course, the raw materials for ma- 
nufactures incident to these products. 
But the herdsmen on the plains 
of Illinois, Iowa, Florida, and Texas 
would grow rich in selling beeves, 
swine, and sheep for the cost of their 
keeping through a Canadian winter ! 

On the other hand, we see, in 
some parts of our own country, whole 
communities of people engaged in 
mechanical industries, while the earth 
calls for tillage. Even in our more 
populous territories, enough of what 
should be fruitful lands to yield sub- 
sistence to a larger population than 
Canada will ever contain, lies fallow 
and neglected. But our commercial 
relations are adverse to the proper 
adjustment of industrial pursuits. 

The Canadians dare not rely upon 
their neighbors for bread to eat, any 
more than those neighbors would 
venture to build their workshops and 
factories in Canada. The more ven- 
turesome try to obviate the difficul- 
ty, to some extent, by illicit trade ; 
but all the obstacles to legitimate 
commerce to the conveniences of 
living remain ; and they must re- 
main as long as the American and 
Canadian producers have to pay tri- 
bute to Caesar on exchanging the 
fruits of their labors. Reciprocity 

treaties may modify, but they cannot 
remove, this great obstacle to pros- 
perous trade. 

Treaties regulating trade cannot 
so change the industries of the two 
countries as to confine large agricul- 
tural enterprises to the soil and cli- 
mate that would insure success, nor 
send the artisan, now living on rich 
uncultivated lands, to till the earth. 
What means the extraordinary emi- 
gration from Canada to the States ? 
And how can we account for the sud- 
den expansion of manufacturing in- 
dustries in Montreal and other Cana- 
dian towns ? It means that, while gov- 
ernments are discussing treaties for re- 
ciprocal trade, their people are practis- 
ing reciprocal emigration but with a 
difference. The Canadian becomes an 
American citizen the American very 
rarely a British subject. We recollect 
two incidents in our own experience 
apropos to the matter under conside- 

Some two years ago we passed a 
summer in the " Lower Provinces." 
In the parlor of our hotel, we fell in- 
to conversation with an intelligent 
man of business who proved to be 
a commercial traveller from Canada. 
His specialty was boots and shoes. 
On mentioning that Lynn, in Massa- 
chusetts, was the great shoe factory 
of " the States," his reply was, " Yes ! 
the head of our firm is from Lynn." 
Lynn had gone to Montreal to em- 
ploy Canadian hands in turning Ca- 
nadian leather into boots and shoes 
to supply colonial markets. " The 
head of our firm," like other heads 
of firms, had solved the problem of 
appropriate industry as far as he was 
concerned. He had learned where 
material, and hands to work it, were 
cheapest, and he was utilizing them. 
He had emigrated to employ the 
cheap labor that could not emigrate. 
At another time, we met a well-dress- 
ed mechanic who was not at home. 

Our Northern Neighbors. 

His home was in " the States." 
He was only visiting his birthplace 
and kindred. In reply to the remark 
that the high wages which had en- 
ticed him to the States were only high 
in sound, since greenbacks were at a 
great discount, and food, clothing, 
and rent at inflated prices, his reply 
evinced a perfect understanding of 
the whole question, as it affected him 
and the class to which he belonged. 

" True," said he, " I am paid in 
greenbacks; but I have a better 
house, better food, and better clothes 
than I ever had before. And at the 
end of the year, my surplus green- 
backs are worth more, in gold, than I 
could get for a year's labor in this 

Here are two parties whose inte- 
rests are reciprocal, whose social con- 
ditions are essentially the same, who 
live in juxtaposition to each other, 
but with broad ocean between them 
and other countries and peoples, frit- 
tering away material interests, wast- 
ing revenues that of right should be 
employed for their advancement in 
social life, to gratify a spirit of anta- 
gonism where even rivalry should be 
deemed insane. But is there no 
remedy for these disorders in our 
political economy ? We think there 
is a very obvious one ; and if we may 
not say, " What God has joined to- 
gether, let not man put asunder," be- 
cause the parties are not agreed, we 
can and do say, the sooner they 
are agreed, the better for both. We 
would say to Canada, do not waste 
your time and strength in trying to 
effect impossibilities. Let us see 
your many rivers alive with the arti- 
sans who can send to the market 
something else than ship-timber and 
deals. Let us see the smoke of the 
forge and the foundry rise in prox- 
imity to your mines of coal. We 
want all that you can make, and 
have no fear that you will in any 


degree impair the prosperity of our 
own industrial people. And we will 
pay you in bread, better and cheaper 
than you can get from your colder 
and less fruitful lands. And when 
your coarser materials are wrought 
into shape for export, we have skilled 
labor, nearer than Britain, to receive 
your surplus products and fashion 
them into the thousand fabrics which 
only skilled labor can supply. 

We have no desire to see your 
wheat-fields fail or to decry their pro- 
ducts in the market. W"e only say 
that they are too limited for danger- 
ous competition with ours. And we 
further say, that if you will but de- 
velop other and more legitimate in- 
dustries, so that your wheat-growing 
districts cannot feed your people, we 
will be sure to have bread enough 
and to spare. And you may be also 
sure that all your efforts will not so 
overstock the markets we can offer 
as to make trade languish, when the 
thousands now peopling this conti- 
nent shall become millions, though 
the Old World should want nothing 
that you can give. And, then, you 
have but a doubtful road to the mar- 
kets of the Old World. For half the 
year your highway to the ocean and 
to other lands must be across our 
territory. Intercolonial railways 
through unsettled and unproduc- 
tive countries will not answer the de- 
mands of commerce. They will not 
pay; and, if they would, the inte- 
rests served ought not to be so bur- 
dened where access may be had to 
readier and cheaper lines of com- 

Does all this imply annexation ? 
Call it what you will. As one of 
your Canadian statesmen said to the 
people of a lesser province, " If you 
do not want us to annex you, we are 
willing that you should annex us." 
If you are more conservative than 
we are, a little conservatism will do 

Our Northern Neighbors. 

us no harm; and the interests you 
would conserve would be quite as 
safe under the eagle's beak as under 
the lion's paw. If one be a bird, the 
other is surely a beast of prey; and 
we believe that harmless folk have 
less to apprehend from one alone 
than from the jealous rivalries of 

Of one thing we feel assured: the 
time is not far distant when the peo- 
ple of this northern half of America 
will have to adopt a policy so dis- 
tinct from that of the older nations 
of Europe that self-preservation will 
demand a union of power where 
there is now an evident identity of 

It were well that this union should 
be preceded by such guarantees of 
existing rights and privileges as 
might, without specific and just con- 
ventions, be open to subsequent 
question and dispute. And it were 
also well for governments to direct 
the inarch which necessity compels 
their people to make, rather than 
incur the risk of finding themselves 
at variance with those for whose 
greater good civil government is 
designed. We do not purpose to 
discuss, the origin or foundation of 
civil government. It is enough for 
us to know that man requires and God 
wills it ; and that, in the absence of 
other and higher sanctions, the best 
evidence of his will is found in the 
intelligent, honest consent of the gov- 
erned. Does any one doubt what 
the more intelligent and honest people 
of Canada and the United States 
require ? We do not ask what may 
be the role of the political adventur- 
er, the office-seeker, the government 
speculator or tuft-hunter. We always 
know that the end of all their loyalty 
or patriotism is self. But we ask 
what is needed for the greater good 
of the people. Not alone the peo- 
ple of to-day or to-morrow, but of 

the future as well. How the people 
of to-day esteem the policy of their 
lawgivers, may be known by their 
conduct under it. And the army of 
government revenue officers and de- 
tectives on either side along the 
frontiers of Canada and " the States " 
offers sufficient evidence of the es- 
teem in which the laws of trade 
are held. We know not which is the 
more corrupt the law-breakers or 
the agents of the law; but we do 
know, from the notoriety of the fact, 
that the commercial relations now 
existing between the Canadas and 
the States are, in effect, so demoral- 
izing, to commercial people and com- 
mercial interests, that the laws which 
propose to govern them were better 
abrogated than left to offer a premi- 
um to chicanery and fraud. 

We are neither alarmists nor po- 
litical propagandists. We have no 
greedy desire for our neighbor's goods, 
no fanatical wish to impose our po- 
litical dogmas or theories upon the 
people of other states. We but be- 
hold and see what is before and 
around us and, seeing it, we only give 
utterance to belief that has grown 
and strengthened, until scarcely a 
doubt remains, when we say that we 
believe the ultimate union of the 
United States and British America to 
be inevitable. The time may be 
more or less distant, the occasion and 
the means may be as yet undreamed 
of; but the event seems as certain 
as the coming of the morrow's sun 
while the shades of evening gather 
over and around us. If, unfortunate- 
ly, war should take the place of 
peaceful union, the calamity would 
hardly be less to us than to Canada. 

By peaceful union, existing rights 
of the weaker party are made secure. 
By war, they are jeopardized and 
may be lost. But to us, as well as to 
them, war would be a calamity of 
such fearful magnitude, that we are 

On the Higher Education. 

constrained to look with hope to the 
time when the conflicting interests 
of the Old World shall have no pow- 

er to disturb the peaceful relations 
that should always exist between our- 
selves and our neighbors. 



THE whole scope of the subject 
properly comprised under the title 
" Higher Education " obviously in- 
cludes all that belongs to every kind 
of institute of learning above common 
schools. We have selected this title 
in order to leave freedom to our- 
selves to discourse upon any part of 
the subject we might think proper, 
although in our first article we limited 
our remarks to a class of schools in- 
tended for that which is more strict- 
ly to be designated as intermediate 
education. We have a few addition- 
al remarks to offer upon the same 
part of our subject, after which we 
will proceed to throw out a few sug- 
gestions upon some of its remaining 
and still more important portions. 
We are not attempting to treat these 
topics fully and minutely, and our 
observations will be, therefore, brief 
and desultory. 

In regard to the course of studies 
to be pursued in intermediate schools, 
it is a question of great practical 
moment how to arrange the several 
branches to be taught to the pupils 
in such a way as to prepare them 
most efficiently for the future occu- 
pations of their lives. The course 
common to all ought to be made up 
of those studies which are alike nec- 
essary or important to all. In addi- 
tion to these common studies, certain 
special branches should be taught, or 

the distinct branches of the common 
course more extensively carried out, 
for distinct classes of pupils, varying 
these optional studies according to 
the different occupations for which 
they are preparing. For instance, a 
moderate quantity of mathematics 
and a rudimental, general course of 
instruction in physical sciences are suf- 
ficient for all, except those who will 
need greater knowledge and practice 
in them for use in their profession. 
It is useless to attempt, in these 
days, education on the encyclopaedic 
principle. The common and solid 
basis of all education once laid, the 
more specific it becomes, the better ; 
and for want of good sense and skill 
in selecting studies, apportioning the 
relative time and labor given to them, 
and directing them to a definite end, 
very great waste and loss are incur- 
red in education. 

One other most important point, 
which we merely notice, is the pro- 
priety of providing the most thorough 
instruction in the modern languages, 
especially the French, which can 
more easily be done, as we suppose, 
in the schools of which we are speak- 
ing, that no time whatever, or at 
most but a moderate amount, is 
given to the ancient languages. 
Without going further into details, it 
is obvious that schools of the inter- 
mediate class have an unlimited 

On the Higher Education. 

sphere in which they can give any 
kind and degree of instruction be- 
longing to the most extensive and 
liberal education, deducting the clas- 
sics, and stopping short of the uni- 
versity, properly so called. Nor is 
there any reason why, if we had uni- 
versities in the highest sense of the 
term, the pi$>ils of these schools 
should not afterward enjoy all the 
privileges they offer which do not 
require a knowledge of the ancient 
languages. We will not say any- 
thing on the vexed classical question. 
Did it seem to be practicable, we 
should strongly favor making the 
study of Latin a part of the education 
of all who go beyond the common 
rudiments, as well girls as boys, to 
such an extent that they could un- 
derstand the divine offices of the 
church. For all other uses or advan- 
tages, we are inclined to think that 
many pupils who occupy a great 
deal of time in gaining a very imper- 
fect smattering of Latin and Greek, 
might better spare it for other studies.* 

However the question may be 
eventually settled in regard to the 
classics as a part of general educa- 
tion, it is certain that they must 
retain their place in the education of 
the clergy, and of at least a select 
portion of those who are destined for 
other learned pursuits and profes- 
sions. We shall speak more fully 
about this part of the subject a little 
further on. Before leaving the topic 
of English education, however, we 
have one or two supplementary ob- 
servations to make, suggested by the 
remarks of other writers which we 
have come across since we began 
writing the present article. 

F. Dalgairns, in an article which he 

* Prof. Seeley advocates the plan of devoting a 
part of the time during the last two years at 
English schools to Latin. The proper study of 
English must also include in it an analysis of the 
Latin element, and an explanation of the deriva- 
tion of words of Latin origin. 

has published in the Contemporary Re- 
view, has expressed himself in a man- 
ner quite similar to our own respect- 
ing the necessity of a return to the 
scholastic philosophy. His remarks 
have given us great pleasure, and 
they furnish one more proof of the 
tendency toward unity in philosophi- 
cal doctrine among Catholics which 
is daily spreading and gaining 
strength. One observation of his 
on this head is specially worthy of 
attention. He says that it is necessa- 
ry, if we desire to teach the scholastic 
philosophy to those who have re- 
ceived or are receiving a modern or 
English education, to translate and 
explain its terms in the best and 
most intelligible English. A mere 
literal translation from Latin text- 
books will not answer the purpose. 
This is very true, and we cannot re- 
frain from expressing the wish that 
the health and occupations of F. Dal- 
gairns may permit him to write an 
entire series of philosophical essays, 
like the one he has just published on 
the Soul, to which we have just re- 
ferred. Indeed, we know of no one 
better fitted by intellectual aptitude 
for metaphysical reasoning and mas- 
tery of the requisite art as a writer, 
to prepare a manual of philosophy 
for English students. 

The Dublin Review has repeated 
and sanctioned the observations of 
F. Dalgairns, and has added some- 
thing to them equally worthy to be 
noticed to wit, that our Catholic 
text-books of logic need to be im- 
proved by incorporating into them 
the results of the more careful and 
thorough analysis of the laws of 
logic which has been made by seve- 
ral English writers. It is very true 
that, although the English metaphy- 
sic is a sorry affair, there have been 
several very acute logicians among 
modern English thinkers; as, for 
instance, Mr. Mill, Mr. De Morgan, 

On the Higher Education. 


and Sir William Hamilton. We 
suppose that the Dublin Review 
intends to designate the doctrine of 
what is technically called the " quan- 
tification of the predicate " made 
known by the two authors last men- 
tioned, simultaneously and indepen- 
dently of each other, as a real 
discovery in logical science, and an 
addition to Aristotle's laws. We 
hope the matter will be further dis- 
cussed, and that not only English and 
American writers interested in the 
subject of philosophical teaching 
will give it their attention, but Conti- 
nental scholars also. For our own 
part, our role at present is the modest 
one of giving hints and provoking 
discussion, and we therefore abstain 
from going any deeper than a mere 
scratch of the rich soil we hope to 
see well dug and planted before 

From another and very different 
quarter, we have found within a day 
or two a corroboration of several 
opinions we expressed in our first 
article. Prof. Seeley, of the Univer- 
sity of Cambridge, England, in a 
little volume of essays, noticed by us 
in another place, advocates the teach- 
ing of logic in English schools, dwells 
on the importance of teaching history 
after a better method, and sketches 
out a plan of improving the instruc- 
tion given in medium schools and 
universities, which is well worthy of 
being read and thought over by those 
who have the direction of education. 

But we will turn now to another 
and still higher department of edu- 
cation, which embraces the courses of 
study proper to the university and 
the schools which are preparatory to 
it. Beginning with that branch of 
study which must undoubtedly still 
continue to form an essential and 
principal branch of the strictly colle,- 
giate education, the classics, we do 
not hesitate to say that this branch, 

instead of being less, ought to be 
more thoroughly and completely cul- 
tivated. In so far as Latin is con- 
cerned, it is evident that those who 
aim at anything more than the de- 
gree of knowledge requisite for 
understanding better the modern 
languages, and the terms which are 
in common use derived from Latin, 
or, perhaps, for a more intelligent ap- 
preciation of church offices, ought to 
master the language fully, together 
with its classical literature. The 
reasons which prove this statement 
apply with tenfold force to ecclesias- 
tics, for whom Latin ought to be a 
second mother-tongue. It is not 
necessary to give these reasons, for 
they are well known and fully appre- 
ciated by all who are concerned with 
the collegiate or ecclesiastical educa- 
tion of Catholic youth. 

The question of Greek is a distinct 
one. For those who study the clas- 
sics for the sake of their intrinsic value 
as works of art, Greek has the pre- 
cedence of Latin in importance. It 
is evident, therefore, that a most 
thorough and extensive course of 
Greek is necessary for students of 
this class. Whether such a course 
ought to be made a part of the obliga- 
tory collegiate curriculum of studies, 
or merely provided for a select class 
who may choose to enter upon it, 
we leave to the discretion and judg- 
ment of the learned. Undoubtedly, 
we ought to have a certain number 
of accomplished Grecians among our 
men of letters. It is necessary in the 
interests of ecclesiastical learning 
that we should have thorough Greek 
scholars among our clergy. For all 
useful purposes, however, the value 
of the amount of Greek actually 
learned by the majority is exceeding- 
ly small, and not to be compared 
with the practical utility of a know- 
ledge of any one of several modern 
languages, for example, the Ger- 

On the Higher Education. 

man. A clergyman, for instance, 
who does not aspire to become a 
learned philologist, but only to make 
himself acquainted with the labors of 
the best commentators on the Scrip- 
ture, will not find it very necessary 
to be able to read the Septuagint or 
the Greek New Testament. As for 
Hebrew, whatever can be learned by 
a short and superficial course will be 
almost useless. If he desires to 
read Aristotle, Plato, or the Greek 
fathers, for the sake of their sense 
and ideas, he can do so in the Latin 
translations without any fear of being 
led into any erroneous interpretation. 
The point we are driving at is, that 
the thorough study of Latin is the 
most essential thing to be secured in 
a classical course. Philosophy; a 
moderate course of mathematics ; the 
English language and literature ; the 
physical sciences, and the modern 
languages, especially the French, are 
the other essentials of a complete 
collegiate course. Whatever time 
remains will be most usefully em- 
ployed in the study of history and of 
modern political and social questions, 
branches which are certainly essen- 
tial to a complete liberal education, 
though for many, or perhaps most, 
students their thorough cultivation 
may have to be postponed until after 
their college course is finished. The 
improvement of the collegiate educa- 
tion in all these branches, requires, of 
course, a corresponding improvement 
in the preparatory schools, since the 
school and college depend on each 
other. It is our opinion, in which 
we are sure that the men most ex- 
perienced in these matters concur, 
that those who begin their schooling 
at the earliest suitable age need to be 
well trained in an excellent prepara- 
tory school until the age of seventeen, 
before they are fit to profit fully by a 
high collegiate course. Those who 
begin later must enter college at a 

more advanced age, unless they can 
make up by diligence for lost time, 
or be content with a shorter course 
of study. The raising of the condi- 
tions for entering college, which can 
be done gradually, must improve the 
preparatory schools, and the improve- 
ment of these schools will in turn 
benefit the colleges, by furnishing 
them with subjects fitted for a higher 
course of studies. 

In saying this, we beg to disavow 
any intention of undervaluing or 
finding fault with the colleges and 
schools at present existing, or the 
learned and laborious corps of teach- 
ers employed in them. They de- 
serve the highest meed of praise and 
gratitude, and we may well congratu- 
late ourselves on the truly vast work 
which has been accomplished, at 
great cost and by dint of great ef- 
forts, in the cause of Catholic educa- 
tion in this country. But our motto 
should ever be, like that of the past 
generations of laborers in this great 
cause, " Upward and onward !" We 
trust, therefore, that all we may say 
in favor of improvement will be 
taken as an encouragement and not 
as a fault-finding criticism as a 
friendly suggestion, and not as a pre- 
sumptuous attempt at dictation. 

We have now reached the proper 
place for speaking of the great neces- 
sity of a Catholic University in the 
United States. A well-conducted 
college for undergraduates is not a 
university, though it is often digni- 
fied with that name; but is merely 
one of the principal constituent parts 
of a university. In regard to the 
proper constitution, nature, and con- 
duct of a university, much has been 
written, of late, both in Europe and 
America. In Europe, those who 
write on the subject either consider 
the subject of improvement or reform 
in universities already existing, or 
the demands existing in various 

On the Higher Education. 


quarters for the foundation of new 
ones. These last are chiefly among 
Catholics, who are extremely alive 
to this necessity in several countries, 
but especially in Germany and Eng- 
land. The foundation of a great 
Catholic University for Germany at 
the spot which is most appropriate 
for such a grand undertaking, on ac- 
count of its hallowed and scholastic 
memories, Fulda, has been deter- 
mined. We hope that the efforts to 
make the Catholic University of 
Dublin completely successful, and to 
found another in England, may 
speedily produce their desired result. 
In this country, the heads of the 
older Protestant colleges are consid- 
ering what measures can be taken to 
raise these institutions to the level of 
the universities of Europe. Among 
the papers which we have read from 
different quarters on this subject, 
those of Professor Seeley, of Cam- 
bridge, and of one or two professors 
of Yale College, writing in the New 
Englander, have especially attracted 
our attention ; and we may have oc- 
casion to reproduce some of their re- 
marks or suggestions in the present 
article. Among the Catholics of the 
United States, the Germans have 
manifested what looks like the most 
serious disposition which has yet 
shown itself for taking the actual initi- 
ative in the movement. We rejoice 
to see it, and hope they may go on. 
They are a most respectable body; 
their energy, wealth, and power of 
organized action are great. Ger- 
many is full of young ecclesiastics of 
the best education, who are sighing 
for employment, and competent to 
fill chairs in all the departments 
except that of English literature. 
We have but one precaution to 
suggest, in case this enterprise is 
undertaken, which is: that pro- 
per care be taken to secure the 
entire subordination of the corps of 

governors and teachers to the hierar- 
chy and the Holy See, and to ascertain 
the strict orthodoxy of the persons 
called to fill the professorial chairs. 
We want no followers of Hermes, 
Dollinger, or any other leader of a 
German sect in philosophy or the- 
ology; and persons of that class 
whose role is played out at home, 
might be the very first to look out 
for a new field in which to practise 
their manoeuvres, in a German Uni- 
versity in the United States, if they 
saw a chance of securing in it the 
desirable position of professors a 
position which has special attractions 
for the German mind. 

The Advocate of Louisville has re- 
cently spoken out very strongly on 
the need of a Catholic University in 
this country; and the topic is fre- 
quently broached in conversation, as, 
indeed, it has been for the last fifteen 
years. Let the Germans go forward 
and take the lead if they are able and 
willing ; but this will not lessen the 
necessity of the same action on the 
part of the other Catholics of the 
country, who, we may hope, will be 
stimulated by the example of a body 
of men so much smaller in number 
than themselves. When the time 
comes for action in this matter, the 
direction of it will be in higher hands 
than ours; but, meanwhile, we will 
indulge ourselves in the at least 
harmless amusement of sketching an 
ideal plan of the university as it lies 
in our own imagination, and of the 
possible method of making it a 

A university is a corporation of 
learned and studious men who are 
devoted to the acquisition and com- 
munication of science and art in all 
their higher branches. It may "be 
more or less complete and extensive-, 
In its greatest extension it ought ta 
comprise one or more colleges for 
undergraduates, schools of all the 


On the Higher Education. 

special professional studies, and a 
school of the higher and more pro- 
found studies in every department of 
literature and science. It must have 
a permanent body of learned men 
residing within its precincts, whose 
lives are entirely devoted to study 
and instruction. It must have a 
vast library ; museums of science and 
antiquities; a gallery of painting, 
sculpture, and all kinds of artistic 
works ; a complete scientific appara- 
tus, a botanical garden, magnificent 
buildings, beautiful chapels, and a 
grand collegiate church, with its 
chapter of clergymen and perfectly 
trained choir. It should have, also, 
a great publishing-house, and issue 
regularly its periodical reviews and 
magazines, as well as books, of the 
first class of excellence in the several 
distinct departments of science and 
letters. It must be richly endowed, 
and well governed, under the su- 
preme control and direction of the 
hierarchy and the Holy See. A 
plan combining the chief distinctive 
features of the Roman University, 
Oxford, Louvain, and the best uni- 
versities of France and Germany, 
with some improvements, would re- 
present the full and complete idea 
we have in our mind. 

When we come to the practical 
question. What could be done now, 
at once, toward the beginning of 
such a colossal undertaking ? it is 
by no means so easy to solve it as it 
is to sketch the plan of our ideal uni- 
versity. We do not fancy, of course, 
that such a grand institution as this 
we have described, or even one simi- 
lar to the best existing European 
universities, can be created in a 
hurry by any speedy or summary 
process. But if it is commenced 
now, can it not be brought to com- 
pletion by the beginning of the 
twentieth century? It seems to us 
that in the year 1900 or 1925 we 

shall need not one only, but three 
grand Catholic universities in the 
United States. That we can and 
ought to begin the work of founding 
one without delay, we have no 
doubt. The difficulty is, however, 
in pointing out a sensible and feasi- 
ble method of doing well what many 
or most of us are ready to acknow- 
ledge ought to be done quickly. Let 
us suppose that the requisite autho- 
rity and the necessary funds are con- 
fided to the hands of the proper 
commission, who are to lay the first 
stones in the foundation of a univer- 
sity. How should they proceed, and 
what should they first undertake ? 
As these high powers exist only po- 
tentially and in our own imagina- 
tion, we can be certain that they will 
not take offence if we presume to 
offer them our opinion and advice. 

What is the first and most obvious 
want which we seek to satisfy by 
founding a university ? It is the 
want of a collegiate system of educa- 
tion and discipline superior to the 
one already existing in our colleges, 
and equal to any existing elsewhere. 
The first thing to be done, then, is 
to select some already existing col- 
lege, or to establish a new one, as 
the nucleus of the future university. 
We will suppose that some one of 
our best colleges can be found which 
has the requisite advantages of loca- 
tion, etc., making it an eligible place 
for a great university. Let measures 
be taken to place the grade of educa- 
tion and instruction in this college at 
the highest mark. The first of these 
measures must be to give it a corps 
of professors and tutors fully equal to 
their task, and to make the position 
of these professors a dignified, hon- 
orable, and permanent one. An- 
other measure of immediate neces- 
sity would be the total separation of 
the college from the grammar-school, 
and the establishment of a system of 

On the Higher Education. 


discipline suitable not for boys but 
for young men. The mere an- 
nouncement by sufficiently high au- 
thority that such a system would be 
inaugurated in a college, would draw 
at once within its walls students 
enough eager to begin a thorough 
course of study, to secure the success 
of the experiment. At first, the 
course of study already in vogue 
might be carried on, merely adding 
to it such branches as would not pre- 
suppose a previous preparation not 
actually possessed by the students. 
For admission to the class of the 
next year to come, the conditions 
might be raised one grade higher, 
and thus by successive changes, pre- 
viously made known, the maximum 
standard might be reached without 
inconvenience or injustice to any; 
and the grammar-schools would be 
enabled and obliged to prepare their 
pupils expressly for the examination 
they would have to pass for admit- 
tance into the college. The college 
thus properly planted and cultivated 
would grow of itself in due time to 
maturity and perfection. Nothing 
more is wanted than a good system, 
fit men to administer it, plenty of 
money, and a body of youth fit and 
desirous to be instructed and edu- 
cated in the best manner. The 
library, the scientific cabinets, the 
philosophical apparatus, the build- 
ings, grounds, and other exterior 
means and appliances, should be 
provided for as speedily and amply 
as circumstances would permit. 

The second great want, in our 
opinion, is the provision for ec- 
clesiastical students of the advan- 
tages for education which can 
only be completely furnished by a 
university, and which cannot, there- 
fore, be fully enjoyed at separate ec- 
clesiastical seminaries. The Little 
Seminary is only a superior kind of 
grammar-school, even though it gives 

instruction in the ancient languages 
and some other branches to the same 
extent with a college. The Grand 
Seminary is, strictly speaking, a col- 
lege for instruction in theology, al- 
though it includes a year or two of 
that study of philosophy which is only 
introductory to the theological course. 
A thorough university course, in 
which all the instruction preparatory 
to theology should be finished, would 
give a more complete and thorough 
education to young ecclesiastics, fit 
them much better for their profes- 
sional studies, and prepare them 
much more efficaciously for the high 
position which belongs, by all divine 
and human right, to the priesthood. 
This is the way in which the clergy, 
both secular and regular, were trained 
during the Middle Ages. The system 
of separate training came in after- 
ward, and has been kept up by a 
sort of necessity, chiefly because the 
universities have become so secular- 
ized as to be dangerous places. \Ve 
have touched, in these last words, the 
tender spot, which we well know 
must be handled delicately. The 
great argument for secluding young 
ecclesiastics in seminaries entirely 
separate from secular colleges is, that 
their morals, their piety, their voca- 
tion, are otherwise endangered. We 
reply to this by a suggestion in- 
tended to do away with the objec- 
tion to a university life, and at the 
same time to show how its advan- 
tages may be secured. Let both sys- 
tems be combined. Let there be a 
college exclusively intended for 
young ecclesiastics, in which they 
shall be kept under the discipline of 
the Little Seminary, at the university. 
The Little Seminary will then take its 
place as a separate grammar-school 
for boys who are intended for the ec- 
clesiastical state. From this school 
they can pass, not before their seven- 
teenth year, to the college at the uni- 


On the Higher Education. 

versity, and they will have seven 
years still remaining in which to 
finish their education, before they ar- 
rive at the canonical age for ordina- 
tion to the priesthood. It seems to 
us that the separate college is a suffi- 
cient security for the morals, piety, 
and vocation of any young man 
above seventeen years of age who is 
fit to be a priest in this country out- 
side of the walls of a monastery. 
Moreover, we are speaking about a 
model Catholic university, which, we 
should hope, would not be so ex- 
tremely dangerous a place for young 
men. We have never heard that 
Louvain is considered in that light 
by the clergy of Belgium, and the 
glimpse we had of a large body of 
the Louvain students at Malines dur- 
ing the session of the Congress of 
1867, gave us the most favorable 
impression of their virtuous char- 

The university should also be the 
seat of the principal Grand Seminary, 
and of a school of Higher Theology. 
The reasons for locating the place of 
education for ecclesiastics at a uni- 
versity apply to all the grades of 
their distinct schools above that of 
the grammar-school with nearly equal 
force, and they are very weighty 
in their nature. They concern in 
part the professors and in part the 
students. So far as the former are 
concerned, it is evident that they 
would derive the greatest advantage 
from the facilities for study and inter- 
course with learned men afforded by 
the university, and would exercise the 
most salutary influence over the pro- 
fessors in the departments of philoso- 
phy and secular science. One great 
end of the university is to collect 
together a great body of learned men 
devoted to the pursuit of universal 
science; and it is obvious that 
this cannot be successfully accom- 
plished unless the ecclesiastical col- 

leges are included within the corpo- 

In regard to the students, it seems 
plain enough that all that part of 
their course which precedes theology 
can be much more thoroughly carried 
on at a university of the highest class 
than at a Little Seminary, especially if 
these seminaries are numerous and 
therefore necessarily limited in num- 
bers and all kinds of means for im- 
provement. A concentration of the 
endowments, the instructors, and the 
pupils in one grand institution, makes 
it possible to give a much better and 
higher kind of education, and saves a 
great deal of labor besides. It is es- 
pecially, however, in relation to the 
lectures on physical science, and the 
cultivation of other general branches 
distinct from the routine of class 
recitations, that the university has the 
advantage over the seminary. The 4 
students of theology, moreover, can 
receive great benefit from lectures of 
this kind, and from the libraries, mu- 
seums, cabinets, etc., which a great 
university will possess, as well as from 
the greater ability and learning which 
men chosen to fill the chairs of sacred 
science in such an institution are 
likely to have, in comparison with 
those who can be made available for 
giving instruction in many of the 
smaller seminaries. Over and above 
all these advantages for actually gain- 
ing a greater amount of knowledge, 
there is the immense advantage to be 
gained of bringing up together and 
binding into one intellectual brother- 
hood our most highly educated 
Catholic youth. There is some- 
thing in the atmosphere and the sur- 
roundings of a great university which 
quickens and enlarges the intellectual 
life ; brightens the faculties ; trains 
the mind for its future career, and 
fits it to act in society and upon 
men. The alma mater is a centre 
of influences and associations lasting 

On the Higher Education. 


through life. The learned men re- 
siding there, and their pupils in all 
professions, are bound together by 
sacred ties, which are not only a 
cause of pleasure to them in future 
years, but of great power for good 
in the community. Such a university 
as we have described would in twenty- 
five years produce a body of alum- 
ni who would intellectually exert a 
great influence over the Catholic 
community throughout the United 
States, and make themselves re- 
spected by all classes of educated 
men. The clergy ought to retain 
the first place and a commanding 
influence among this body of educat- 
ed Catholics. For this purpose, it 
seems to us that they ought to be 
educated with them, and look to 
the same university as their alma 

We see no reason, moreover, why 
the religious orders and congrega- 
tions should not share and co-operate 
in the labors and advantages of 
this great enterprise. The smaller 
congregations find the suitable edu- 
cation of their postulants a difficult 
task. One or more colleges at a 
university, where these students could 
reside by themselves, under their 
own rule and superior, but receiving 
their instruction from the university 
professors, would solve this difficulty. 
The older and more numerous reli- 
gious societies have greater facilities 
for educating their students, and are 
governed by their own old and pecu- 
liar traditions. We will not presume 
so far as to give them any sugges- 
tions from our modern brain in re- 
gard to matters in which they have 
the experience of from one to six 
centuries. It strikes us, however, as 
a very pleasing and quite medieval 
idea, that our proposed grand uni- 
versity, which we may as well make 
as splendid as possible while it re- 
mains purely ideal, should have its 

Dominican, Jesuit, Sulpician, and 
Lazarist colleges. There is no rea- 
son why such colleges should not 
make constituent parts of the uni- 
versity, each one having its own laws 
and regulating its own internal af- 
fairs according to its own standards. 

We will say nothing about the law, 
medical, scientific, and artistic schools 
which a university ought to have to 
make it complete. 

We have only attempted to show 
how a university might be started on 
its career. Once really alive and in 
motion, the rest would be more easi- 
ly provided for. Undoubtedly, a 
vast sum of money would be requi- 
site for such an undertaking. Our 
wealthy Catholics would have to exer- 
cise a princely liberality, and the whole 
mass of the people would be obliged 
to contribute generously for many 
years in succession. We must ad- 
mire the remarkable instances of 
princely liberality in the cause of ge- 
neral education recently given by Mr. 
Peabody, Mr. Cornell, and a consi- 
derable number of other wealthy 
gentlemen in the United States, whose 
benefactions to colleges and schools 
haye been frequent and munificent. 
Let us have one-twentieth part of 
the money expended on education 
by other religious or learned so- 
cieties, and we will show again 
what we did in former ages, when 
we founded Oxford, Cambridge, St. 
Gall, Bee, Paris, Salamanca, Fulda, 
Louvain, Cologne, Pavia, Padua, Bo- 
logna, and the other famous schools 
of the middle ages. W T hat more im- 
portant or more glorious work can 
be proposed to the Catholics of the 
United States than this ? We know 
what our Catholic youth are, for we 
have spent much' time in giving them 
both scholastic and religious instruc- 
tion. What can be more ingenuous, 
bright, and promising than their cha- 
racter more capable of being mould- 


On the Higher Education. 

ed and formed to everything that is 
virtuous and noble ? They contain 
the material which only needs the 
proper formation to produce a new 
and better age, which we fervently 
hope is already beginning to dawn. 
As the Alcuins, Lanfrancs, and other 
illustrious fathers of education in 
former times were among the princi- 
pal agents in producing epochs of 
new life, so those who take up their 
work now in our own country, and 
throughout Christendom, will be 
among the principal benefactors of 
the church and the human race, and 
deserve for themselves a most hon- 
orable crown. 

Our topic in the present article has 
led us to present almost exclusively 
and in strong light the advantages to 
be derived from a university and from 
university education, in relation both 
to the ecclesiastical state and secular 
professions. To prevent mistake, we 
add in conclusion, that we do not 
desire or anticipate the suppression 
or merging into one institution of all 
our colleges and seminaries. It is 
scarcely possible that all the students 
of this vast country should be edu- 
cated in one place. The necessity 
for other colleges and seminaries will 
of itself create or continue them. 
The university will give them an ex- 
ample and model to follow, will fur- 
nish those not already amply provid- 
ed for from the bosom of old and 
learned religious orders with profes- 
sors, will give those who desire it a 
chance to complete their studies af- 
ter leaving college by residing for a 
time within its walls, and will reign 
as a queen among lesser institutions, 

giving tone, character, and uniformity 
to the scientific and literary commu- 
nity of Catholic scholars throughout 
the country. There are doubtless cer- 
tain respects in which the universi- 
ties of Europe must always have an 
advantage over any institution we 
can hope to found in this new coun- 
try. Some, or even many, will al- 
ways have a longing for a residence 
abroad in these ancient seats of learn- 
ing, which they may and ought to 
gratify, when it lies in their power to 
do so. Above all other places, Rome 
must ever draw to her those who de- 
sire to drink faith, piety, and know- 
ledge from their fountain-head. And, 
if a better age is really coming, not 
only will the Pope necessarily be secur- 
ed in a more tranquil and firm posses- 
sion of his temporal kingdom in all 
the extent which he justly claims, 
that he may govern the church with 
all the plenitude of his supremacy, 
but also that the wealth and prospe- 
rity of the Roman Church may give to 
her institutions of learning an ampli- 
tude and splendor which they have 
never yet attained. Planets are 
nevertheless necessary as well as a 
sun in a system, and so also are satel- 
lites. However ample and extensive 
the provisions made at Rome may 
be for educating a select portion of 
the clergy of all countries, they can 
never make it unnecessary to provide 
also in every country for the best 
and highest education of its own cler- 
gy. So far as we can see, every rea- 
son and consideration cries out im- 
peratively for the speedy foundation 
of a Catholic University in the Unit- 
ed States. 

T/ie Warning. 125 


YE nations of earth, give ear, give ear, 
From Holy Writ comes the warning true, 

The voice of the ancient captive seer 

Through the dim- aisled centuries reaches you. 

Thus saith the seer : " Ye have lifted high 
Against his altar your impious hand ; 

From the Lord's spoiled house is heard the cry, 
4 Destruction swift to this guilty land.' " 

But a deeper than Belshazzar's wrong 
Veils the light of these mournful years, 

And many an eye in the saintly throng 
Turns from the earth bedimmed with tears. 

The Holy City by promise given, 

A precious dower to the spotless bride, 

Is trodden by feet outlawed, unshriven, 
And her streets with martyrs' blood are dyed. 

The crown that ever has fallen as light 
On holy brows, from the Hand above, 

Has been torn away by sinful might 

From him whose rule was a father's love. 

The deed was by one ; the sin by all ; 

By ay, or by silence, ye gave assent ; 
Ye saw the shrine to the spoiler fall, 

Nor hand ye lifted, nor aid ye lent. 

O nations of earth ! give ear, give ear, 
From Holy Writ comes the warning true, 

The voice of the ancient captive seer, 
From the far-off ages, speaks to you ! 


Writing- Materials of the Ancients. 


IT is curious to remark the various 
and apparently incongruous substan- 
ces which men, in their efforts to pre- 
serve knowledge or transmit ideas, 
have used as writing materials. The 
animal, vegetable, and mineral king- 
doms have each and all been laid 
under contribution. In every land 
and in every age, stone and marble 
have been employed to perpetuate 
the remembrance" of the great deeds 
of history. Inscriptions cut in jas- 
per, cornelian, and agate are to be 
met with in every collection of anti- 
quities. A cone of Basalt covered 
with cuneiform characters was found 
some years since in the river Euphra- 
tes, and is now preserved in the Im- 
perial Library of Paris, side by side 
with the sun-baked bricks on which 
the Babylonian astronomers were 
wont during seven centuries to in- 
scribe their observations on the starry 

The Romans made books of bronze, 
in which they engraved the conces- 
sions granted to their colonies ; and 
they preserved on tablets and pillars 
of the same durable material the de- 
crees and treaties of the senate, and 
sometimes, even, the speeches of their 

" The Boeotians," says the learned 
Greek geographer Pausanias, " show- 
ed me a roll of lead on which was 
inscribed the whole work of Hesiod, 
but in characters that time had near- 
ly effaced." 

" Who will grant me," cries Job, 
" that my words may be written ? 
who will grant me that they may be 
marked down in a book ? With an 
iron pen and in a plate of lead, or 
else be graven with an instrument in 
flintstone ?" (xix. 23 24.) 

Tanned skins were likewise em- 
ployed for writing purposes by the 
Asiatics, the Greeks, the Romans, 
and the Celts. In the Brussels li- 
brary there is to be seen a manu- 
script of the Pentateuch, believed to 
be anterior to the ninth century, writ- 
ten on fifty-seven skins sewed toge- 
ther, and forming a roll more than 
thirty-six yards long. 

The custom of writing on leathern 
garments appears to have been pre- 
valent during the middle ages. The 
great Italian poet, Petrarch, used to 
wear a leathern vest, on which, while 
sitting or sauntering near the shaded 
margin of the fountain of Vaucluse, 
he would note each passing thought, 
each poetic fancy. This precious re- 
lic, covered with erasures, still existed 
in 1527. 

We read, too, of a certain abbot 
who strictly enjoined his monks, if 
they happened to meet with any of 
the works of St. Athanasius, to trans- 
scribe the precious volumes on their 
clothes, should paper be unattainable. 
The use of prepared sheep-skin, 
that is, parchment, dates from about 
a hundred and fifty years before the 
Christian era ; its Latin name, fcrga- 
mena, is very evidently derived from 
Pergamos, but whether because in- 
vented there, or because it was more 
perfectly prepared in that city than 
elsewhere, is a question not yet de- 
cided. Besides white and yellow 
parchment, the ancients employed 
purple, blue, and violet. These dark 
shades were intended to be written 
on with gold and silver ink. Several 
very beautiful manuscripts of this de- 
scription are to be seen in the Impe- 
rial Library of Paris. Parchment 
manuscripts were sometimes of great 

Writing Materials of the Ancients. 


size ; thus, the roll containing the in- 
quiry concerning the Knights Tem- 
plars, which is still preserved in the 
archives of France, is full twenty- 
three yards long. 

Parchment became very scarce 
during the invasions of the barbari- 
ans, and this scarcity gave rise to the 
custom of effacing the characters of 
ancient manuscripts in order to write 
a second time on the skin. This un- 
fortunate practice, most prevalent 
among the Romans, and which was 
continued until the invention of rag 
paper, has occasioned the loss of 
many literary and scientific treasures. 
The primitive characters of some few 
of these doubly-written manuscripts, 
or palimpsests, as they are called, 
have been restored by chemical sci- 
ence, and several valuable works re- 
covered ; among others, for instance, 
Cicero's admirable treatise on the Re- 

Even the intestines of animals 
have been used as writing material. 
The magnificent library of Constan- 
tinople, burnt under the Emperor of 
the East, Basiliscus, is said to have 
contained, among its other curiosities, 
the Iliad and the Odyssey, traced in 
letters of gold on the intestine of a 
serpent. This rare specimen of cali- 
graphy measured one hundred and 
twenty feet. 

The most ancient inscribed cha- 
racters we possess are upon wood. 
A sycamore tablet containing an en- 
graved inscription was discovered, 
about thirty years since, in one of 
the Memphis pyramids ; the learned 
Egyptologist who deciphered it pro- 
nounced it to have been in existence 
some five thousand nine hundred 
years ! The Chinese, also, before 
they invented paper two thousand 
years ago, wrote upon wood and 
bamboo. Many oriental nations still 
make books of palm-leaves, on which 
the characters are scratched with a 

sharp-pointed instrument. The Sy- 
racusans of bygone times used to 
write their votes on an olive-leaf. 
The modern Maldivians trace their 
hopes, fears, and wishes on the gi- 
gantic foliage of their favorite tree, 
the makareko, of which each leaf is 
a yard long and half a yard wide. 
The Imperial Library of Paris, rich 
in all that is rare and interesting, 
possesses several ancient leaf manu- 
scripts, some beautifully varnished 
and gilt. 

In Rome, before the use of bronze 
tables and columns, the laws were 
engraven on oak boards. " The an- 
nals of the pagan high- priests," says 
a French writer, " which related day 
by day the principal events of the 
year, were probably written with 
black ink on an album, that is, a 
wooden plank whitened with white- 
lead. These annals ceased a hun- 
dred and twenty years before Christ, 
but the use of the album was kept 
up some time longer." The Romans 
also wrote their wills on wood. 

Linen cloth covered with writing 
has been found in most of the mummy- 
cases that have been opened. The 
Egyptian Museum in the Louvre con- 
tains several rituals on cloth. The 
Sibylline Oracles were traced on 
cloth. The first copy of the Empe- 
ror Aurelian's journal that was made 
after his death was written on cloth, 
and is still preserved in the Library 
of the Vatican. On cloth were writ- 
ten also some of the edicts of the 
first Christian emperors. 

No certain epoch can be ascribed 
to the fabrication of paper from the 
papyrus reed. The celebrated French 
saTant, Champollion the younger, dis- 
covered during his travels in Egypt 
several contracts written on papyrus, 
which by their date must have been 
drawn up seventeen hundred years 

Egypt appears to have kept the mo- 


Writing Materials of the Ancients. 

nopoly of the papyrus paper trade. 
The principal manufactories of it 
were situated at Alexandria, and so 
important an article of commerce did 
it become that a dearth of papyrus 
was the cause of several popular dis- 
turbances in some of the great cities 
of Italy and Greece. Under the 
Emperor Tiberius, a scarcity in the 
supply produced so formidable a riot 
in Rome, that the senate was com- 
pelled to take measures similar to 
those necessary in years of famine, 
and actually had to name commissa- 
ries, whose duty it was to distribute 
to each citizen the quantity of writ- 
ing-paper he absolutely required. 

The papyrus reed seems indeed to 
have been ancient Egypt's greatest 
material blessing, for not only was it 
the principal article of foreign com- 
merce and source of immense wealth 
in the form of paper, but it was also 
of the most extraordinary utility to 
the poorer classes. Household uten- 
sils of every description were fabri- 
cated from its roots ; boats were con- 
structed of its stem ; roofing, sail-cloth, 
ropes, and clothes were made of its 
bark ; and from the appellation of " eat- 
ers of papyrus," often applied to the 
Egyptians by the Greeks, some have 
thought that it was a common article 
of food. How extraordinary does it 
then seem that a plant of such ines- 
timable value should ever have dis- 
appeared from a land which derived 
such benefits from it. Nevertheless, 
it is a singular fact that the papyrus 
is no longer to be found in Egypt; 
recent travellers assure us that not a 
stalk is to be seen at the present day 
in the Delta. Sicily alone now pos- 
sesses the beautiful reed. 

We are ignorant of the exact pe- 
riod of the introduction of the papy- 
rus paper into Greece and Italy, but 
Pliny has left us copious details con- 
cerning the manipulations it under- 
went among the Romans. Sizing 

\vtls then, as it is now, one of the most 
important operations in paper-mak- 
ing. The membranous covering of 
the stem of the papyrus reed was far 
from being of a firm, compact tex- 
ture, and the Alexandrian factories 
probably sent it forth very imperfect- 
ly prepared. The best quality of 
paper was made by gluing together, 
with starch and vinegar, two sheets 
of papyrus, one transversely to the 
other, and then sizing them. These 
sheets were sometimes of considera- 
ble dimensions ; documents have been 
discovered written on paper three 
yards in length. 

Those true lovers of literature, art, 
and science, the Athenians, raised a 
statue to Philtatius to him who first 
taught them the secret of sizing pa- 
per ! 

It is a curious fact that, about thir- 
ty years since, the vegetable size used 
by the ancient Egyptians was intro- 
duced, with some slight improvement, 
as a new discovery, into the paper 
manufactories of France, and has 
now almost entirely abolished the use 
of animal size in that country for all 
purposes connected with the fabrica- 
tion of paper. 

About the fourth century, the Arabs 
made Europe acquainted with cotton 
paper, just then invented in Damas- 
cus, thereby causing a great diminu 
tion in the papyrus trade. A long 
struggle ensued between the rival 
productions, which was only put an 
end to at the commencement of the 
twelfth century, by the invention of 
paper manufactured from flaxen and 
hempen refuse. The papyrus disap- 
peared at once and completely ; soon 
forgotten by commerce, but immor- 
tal in the remembrance of poets and 
sages immortal as the pages of Ci- 
cero and Virgil, whose sweet and 
eloquent thoughts were first traced 
on Egypt's reed. 

Until the present time, this flaxen 

Writing Materials of the Ancients. 


and hempen rag paper has been pro- 
duced in sufficient quantities for the 
necessities of our civilization, but as 
civilization increases, and as educa- 
tion becomes more general, especially 
among the masses of Europe, it is 
evident that the supply of rags will 
be inadequate to the demand, and 
\vood will most probably again be 
brought into requisition, as in the 
age of Pericles. 

Not, however, in the form of the 
ancient tablets, but transformed by 
mechanical and chemical science in- 
to sheets of white and pliant paper ; 
or the numerous fibrous plants of 
Algeria, Cuba, and other tropical 
countries will be turned to account, 
and no longer permitted to waste 
their usefulness on the desert air. 
Even .now, in France, among the 
Vosges Mountains, there is a pa- 
per manufactory where wood is ma- 
nipulated with the most complete 
success. And some few years since, 
a newspaper paragraph informed the 
civilized world that a process of mak- 
ing paper from marble had been dis- 
covered by a canny Scotchman of 
Glasgow ! It is not, indeed, impossi- 
ble that the marble painfully hewn 
and engraven by our forefathers to 
perpetuate the memory of a bloody 
struggle or of some vain triumph, 
may in time to come, by the magic 
power of modern science, become a 
sheet of snowy tissue, whereon the 
fair, slight hand of beauty shall trace 
the dainty nothings of fashionable 

The tablets so continually men- 
tioned by ancient writers must be 
noted. They were made of parch- 
ment, thin boards, ivory, or metal, 
prepared to receive ink, or coated 
with wax and written on with a sty- 
lus, or sharp-pointed pencil. In the 
Fourth Book of Kings we read : " I 
will efface Jerusalem as tables are 
wont to be effaced, and I will erase 


and turn it, and draw the pencil ovei 
the face thereof." Herodotus and 
Demosthenes speak of their tablets. 
In Rome, they were used not only 
as note-books and journals, but also 
for correspondence in the city and 
its environs, while the papyrus served 
for letters intended to be sent to a 
distance. The receiver of one of 
these notes not unfrequently return- 
ed his answer on the same tablet. 
Made of African cypress and highly 
ornamented and inlaid, they were giv- 
en as presents, precisely as portfolios, 
souvenirs, and note-books are now- 
adays. On the wax-covered tablets 
was generally traced the first rough 
copy of any document, to be after- 
ward neatly written out either on 
papyrus or parchment. These wax- 
covered tablets were used in France 
until the beginning of the last cen- 

Two -leaved tablets were called 
diptychs, and were sometimes of ex- 
traordinary cost and beauty. The 
Roman consuls and high magistrates 
were accustomed, on their first ap- 
pointment to office, to present their 
friends with ivory diptychs, exquisite- 
ly engraved and carved, and orna- 
mented with gold. 

Ancient ink was composed of lamp- 
black and gum-water. Pliny says 
that the addition of a little vinegar 
rendered it ineffaceable, and that a 
little wormwood infused it in pre- 
served the manuscript from mice. 
This ink was used until the twelfth 
century, when our present common 
ink was invented. 

Not only black, but also red, blue, 
green, and yellow inks were employ- 
ed in antiquity. Sepia ink and In- 
dian ink are mentioned by Pliny. 
Red ink, made from a murex, was es- 
pecially esteemed, and reserved for 
the emperor's exclusive use, under 
pain of death to all infringers of the 
privilege. Gold and silver inks, prin- 


Dona Fortuna and Don Dinero. 

cipally used from the eighth to the 
tenth centuries, were also prized; 
writers in gold, termed chrysograph- 
ers, formed a class apart among writ- 
ers in general. The Imperial Library 
of Paris possesses several Greek Gos- 
pels, and the Livre des Heures of 
Charles the Bold, entirely written in 
gold. Few manuscripts are extant 
written in silver; the most celebrated 
are the Gospels, preserved in the 
Upsal Library. 

The stylus, a" dangerous weapon 
when made in iron, and proscribed 
by Roman law, which required it to 
be of bone ; the painting brush, used 
still by the Chinese ; the reed, which 
was cut and shaped like our modern 
pen, and with which some oriental 
nations write even now; and the 
feather pen, which is mentioned by 
an anonymous writer of the fifth cen- 

tury, were the general writing imple- 
ments of antiquity and the middle 
ages. Metallic pens are also suppos- 
ed to have been known; the Patri- 
archs of Constantinople were accus- 
tomed to sign their official acts with 
a silver reed, probably of the form 
of a pen. 

Some paintings found in Hercu- 
laneum give evidence that the an- 
cients were accustomed to make use 
of most, if not of all the various con- 
veniences with which modern writers 
surround themselves. The writ- 
ing-desk, the inkstand, the penknife, 
the eraser, the hone, and the powder- 
box were well-known. They do not 
seem, however, to have had the hab- 
it of sitting up to a table to write, 
but rested their tablet or paper on 
their knee, or on their left hand, as 
the orientals do at the present day. 



WELL, sirs, Dona Fortuna and 
Don Dinero were so in love that you 
never saw one without the other. 
The bucket follows the rope, and 
Don Dinero followed Dona Fortuna 
till folks began to talk scandal. Then 
they made up their minds to get 

Don Dinero was a big swollen fel- 
lo'v, with a head of Peruvian gold, a 
belly of Mexican silver, legs of the 
copper of Segovia, and shoes of pa- 
per from the great factory of Ma- 

Dona Fortuna was a mad - cap, 

* Madame Fortune and Sir Money. 
t The Bank of Madrid. 

without faith or law, very slippery, un- 
certain, and queer, and blinder tha'n 
a mole. 

The pair were at cross purposes be- 
fore they had finished the wedding- 
cake. The woman wanted to take 
the command, but this did not suit 
Don Dinero, who was of an overbear- 
ing and haughty disposition. Why, 
sirs ! my father (may glory be his 
rest !) used to say that if the sea were 
to get married he would lose his 
fierceness. But Don Dinero was 
more proud than the sea and did 
not lose his presumption. 

As both wished to be first and 
best, and neither would consent to 
be last or least, they determined to 

Dona Fortuna and Don Dincro. 

decide by a trial which of the two 
had the more power. 

" Look," said the wife to the hus- 
band, " do you see, down there in the 
hollow of that olive-tree, that poor man 
so discouraged and chop-fallen ? Let's 
try whether you or I can do more for 

The husband agreed, and they 
went right away, he croaking, and 
she with a jump, and took up their 
quarters by the tree. 

The man, who was a wretch that 
had never in his whole life seen eith- 
er of them, opened eyes like a pair 
of great olives when the two ap- 
peared suddenly in front of him. 

" God be with you !" said Don 

" And with his grace's worship 
also," replied the poor man. 

" Don't you know me ?" 

" I only know his highness to 
serve him." 

" You have never seen my 
face ?" 

" Never since God made me." 

" How is that have you no- 
thing ?" 

"Yes, sir; I have six children as 
naked as colts, with throats like old 
stocking-legs ; but, as to property, I 
have only grab and swallow, and often 
not that." 

" Why don't you work ?" 

" Why ? Because I can't find 
work, and I'm so unlucky that every- 
thing I undertake turns out as crook- 
ed as a goat's horn. Since I mar- 
ried, it appears as though a frost had 
fallen on me. I'm the fag of ill-hap. 
Now, here a master set us to dig 
him a well for a price, promising 
doubloons when it should be finish- 
ed, but giving not a single maravedi* 

" The master was wise," remarked 
Don Dinero. " ' Money taken, arms 

* Less than a farthing. 

broken,' is a good saying. Go on, my 

" I put my soul in the work ; for, 
notwithstanding your worship sees 
me looking so forlorn, I am a man, 

"Yes," said Don Dinero, "I had 
perceived that." 

" But there are four kinds of men, 
senor. There are men that are men ; 
there are good-for-naughts ; and con- 
temptible monkeys; and men that 
are below monkeys, and not worth 
the water they drink. But, as I was 
telling you, the deeper we dug, the 
lower down we went, but the fewer 
signs we found of water. It appear- 
ed as if the centre of the world had 
been dried. Lastly, and finally, we 
found nothing, senor, but a cob- 

" In the bowels of the earth !" ex- 
claimed Don Dinero, indignant at 
hearing that his ancestral palace was 
so meanly inhabited. 

" No, senor!" said the man depre- 
catingly ; " not in the bowels ; further 
on, in the country of the other 

" What tribe, man ?" 

" The antipodes, senor." 

" My friend, I am going to do you 
a favor," said Don Dinero pOmpous- 
ly ; and he put a dollar in the man's 

The man hardly credited his eyes ; 
joy lent wings to his feet, he was not 
long in arriving at a baker's shop 
and buying bread, but, when he went 
to take out his money, he found no- 
thing in his pocket but the hole 
through which his dollar had gone 
without saying good-by. 

The poor fellow was in despair; he 
looked for it, but when did one of 
his sort ever find anything ? No ; 
St. Anthony guards the pig that is 
destined for the wolf. After the mo- 
ney he lost time, and after time pa- 
tience, and, that lost, he fell to cast- 


Dona Fortuna and Don Dinero. 

ing after his bad luck every curse 
that ever opened lips. 

Dona Fortuna strained herself with 
laughing. Don Dinero's face turned 
yellower with bile, but he had no re- 
medy except to put his hand in his 
pocket and bring out an onza * to 
give the man. 

The poor fellow was so full of joy 
that it leaped out of his eyes. He 
did not go for bread this time, 
but hurried to a dry-goods store to 
buy a few clothes for his wife and 
children. When he handed the onza 
to pay for what he had bought, the 
dealer said, and stuck to it, that the 
piece was bad; that no doubt its 
owner was a coiner of false money, 
and that he was going to give him 
up to justice. On hearing this, the 
poor man was confounded, and his 
face became so hot that you might 
have toasted beans on it; but he 
took to his heels and ran to tell Don 
Dinero what had happened, weeping 
the while with shame and disappoint- 

. Dona Fortuna nearly burst herself 
with laughing, and Don Dinero felt 
the mustard rising in his nose, f 
"Here," said he to the poor man, 
" take these two thousand reals ; your 
luck is truly bad; but if I don't mend 
it, my power is less than I 

The man set off so delighted that 
he saw nothing until he flattened his 
nose against some robbers. They 
left him as his mother brought him 
into the world. 

When his wife chucked him under 
the chin and said it was her turn, and 
it would soon be seen which had the 
more power, the petticoats or the 
breeches, Don Dinero looked more 
shame-faced than a clown. 

* A gold piece valued at sixteen dollars, 
t Was becoming angry. 

She then went to the poor man, 
who had thrown himself on the 
ground and was tearing his hair, and 
blew on him. At the instant the lost 
dollar lay under his hand. " Some- 
thing is something," he said to him- 
self; " I'll buy bread for my chil- 
dren, for they have gone three days 
on half a ration, and their stomachs 
must be as empty as a charity- 

As he passed before the shop 
where he had bought the clothes, the 
dealer called him in, and begged of 
him to overlook his previous rude- 
ness ; said that he had really be- 
lieved the onza to be a bad one, but 
that the assayer, who happened to 
stop as he passed that way, had as- 
sured him that it was one of the very 
best, rather over than under weight, 
in fact. He asked leave to return 
the piece, and the clothes besides, 
which he begged him to accept as an 
expression of sorrow for the annoy- 
ance he had caused him. 

The poor man declared himself 
satisfied, loaded his arms with the 
things ; and, if you will believe me, as 
he was crossing the plaza, some sol- 
diers of the civil guard were bringing 
in the highwaymen that had robbed 
him. Immediately, the judge, who 
was one of the judges God sends, 
made them restore the two thousand 
reals without costs or waste. The 
poor man, in partnership with a 
neighbor of his, put his money in a 
mine. Before they had dug down 
six feet they struck a vein of gold, 
another of lead, and another of iron. 
Right away people began to call him 
Don, then " You Sir," then Your Ex- 
cellency. Since that time Dona For- 
tuna has had her husband humbled 
and shut up in her shoe, and she, 
more addle-pated and indiscriminat- 
ing than ever, goes on distributing 
her favors without rhyme or reason, 

S/. Francis of Assist. 133 

without judgment or discretion stick; and one of them will reach the 
madly, foolishly, generously, hit or writer, if the reader is pleased with 
miss, like the blows of the blind the tale. 


MY brothers, ye are sad, and my sisters, ye are poor, 
But once was holy poverty the cloak that angels wore ; 
My fathers, ye are lame, and my children, pale ye be, 
But in every face, by his dear grace, that blessed Lord I see 
Who brother is and father is, and all things, unto me. 

In the sigh of sick men's prayers, in the woeful leper's eye, 
In the pangs of wicked men, in the groans of them that die, 
Thy voice I hear, thine eye I see, thy thought doth hedge me in. 
Oh 1 may thy sinner bear thy stripes for them that toil in sin, 
And with thy ransomed suffering ones find me my choicest kin. 

For, whether down to pious rest on these bare stones I lie, 

Or if at last upon thy cross triumphantly I die, 

The joy of thee, the praise of thee, is more than all reward ; 

For holy misery doth most with heavenly bliss accord : 

All ways are sweet, all wounds are dear, to them that seek the Lord. 

I made a harp to praise the Lord with ever-glorious strain ; 
I tuned a harp to praise my God, and all its strings were pain : 
Its song was like to fire, but sweet its keenest agony, 
And thus in every tune and tear its burden seemed to be, 
" So great is the joy that I expect, all pain is joy to me." 

Through all the weary world do I an exiled orphan roam, 

Yet for thy sake were desert cave a palace and a home ; 

And birds, and flowers, and stars are lights to read thy Scripture by, 

And earth is but a comment rude unto thy wondrous sky, 

The which to reach, my soul must teach earth's body how to die. 

With thy wayfaring ones my crust I've broken by the brooks, 
When flowers were as our children fair, our comrades were the oaks, 
And wildest forests for thy praise were churches, choirs, and clarks 
Such house and kindred doth he find who to thy wisdom harks. 
Praise ye the Lord, ye spirits small my sisters sweet, the larks 1 

The untented air is home for me who in thy promise sleep, 
Or wake to find thee ever nigh, and still my sins to weep ; 


Letter from Rome. 

And holy poverty's disguise is pleasant to thine eye ; 

Yea richer garb was never worn, that treasures may not buy, 

Since thou hast clad me with thy love, and clothed me with the sky. 

Oh ! could I for one moment's light thy heavenly body see, 

All joy were pain, all pain were joy, all toil were bliss to me. 

I would give mine eyes for weeping, and my blood should flow like 


To purchase in that sight of bliss one blessed look of thine, 
Who hath ransomed with a crown of pain this sinful soul of mine ! 

My brethren, ye are poor, but as children ye are wise, 
Who wander through the wilderness in quest of paradise. 
O little children ! seek the Lord, wherever he may be, 
Whose blessed face by his dear grace on every side I see, 
Who brother is, who father is, and all things, unto ye. 


ROME, Jan. 21, 1871. 

FOUR months have gone by since 
the Italian troops entered Rome 
through the breach made by the 
cannon of Cadorna, four months 
since a new light dawned upon 
the Eternal City, and its regener- 
ators set about the accomplish- 
ment of their aspirations. What 
has been the development of this 
third life of Rome la terza vita, as 
Terenzio Mamiani has been pleased 
to style it in this its primal stage ? 
The child is father to the man the 
seed produces the tree and its fruit. 
So, too, do the beginnings of a poli- 
tical state give an index of its future, 
fix the causes that are to produce 
the results of the future. The his- 
tory of these four months, then, must 
be looked on with interest, and pon- 
dered with care. 

The present century is universally 
considered an age of progress, and it 
was in the name of progress that the 
forces of Victor Emmanuel entered 
the capital of Christianity. Progress 

implies motion from one state or 
condition to another more perfect : 
the simplicity of this statement can- 
not be gainsaid, and we shall assume 
it as uncontested. The party of 
progress took possession of Rome 
in the interest of progress. Has 
Rome progressed during these 
months since the Both of September ? 
Has she gone from her past state to 
one more perfect ? Facts must 
speak ; and facts we give. One thing 
at a time. 

Abundance and cheapness of food 
are the first essentials in the well- 
being of a state, and necessarily con- 
nected with this is the facility of ob- 
taining it. We cannot say that food 
is scarce in Rome ; but the absolute 
and the relative cheapness have un- 
dergone a decided change, to the dis- 
advantage of the poorer as well as 
the wealthier classes, since the 2oth 
of September. The mocinato, or so- 
called grist-tax, extending even to 
the grinding of dried vegetables, 
chestnuts, and acorns, has sent up 

Letter from Rome. 


the price of bread. Salt has risen at 
least a cent per pound. The further 
application of the system of heavy 
taxation is not likely to make other 
articles of prime necessity cheaper. 
And while this state of things exists, 
the facility of obtaining food has 
become much less for the poorer 
classes. The causes of this are to 
be sought in the want of employers. 
It is the universal complaint that 
there is no work. Before the com- 
ing of the present rulers, the army 
of the Pope, composed in great part 
of young men of some means, spent 
a great deal among the people. This 
source of gain ceased with the dis- 
bandment of the Papal troops, for it 
is notorious lippis et tonsortbns, that 
the men of the present contingent 
have barely enough daily allowance 
to keep body and soul together. Be- 
sides this, ecclesiastics spent their 
revenues, fixed by law and sure, with 
a liberal hand. Now, when they find 
difficulty in getting even what they 
cannot be deprived of; now that 
confiscation hangs over their heads 
with menacing aspect ; now that re- 
ligious orders are called on to make 
immense outlays to send their young 
men to places of safety in one case to 
the extent of six thousand dollars 
it would be foolish to expect them to 
sacrifice what is necessary for them- 
selves; though, to do them justice, 
they are always willing to share their 
little with the poor. Dearth of for- 
eign ecclesiastics, and of foreigners 
in general, is another source of dis- 
tress, and this is directly a conse- 
quence of the invasion. The result 
of all this is that there is more mi- 
sery in the city of Rome than has 
been seen for many a day beggars 
are more numerous in the streets, 
and needy families, ashamed to beg, 
suffer in silence or pour their tale 
of woe into the ear of the clergy, 
who always are honored with the 
confidence of the poor and afflicted. 
Surely this state of things is not an 
improvement on the plenty which 
characterized the rule of the pon- 
tiffs. We cannot say Rome in this 
respect has moved into a better 

sphere that she has progress- 

Security of person and property is 
another essential object of the at- 
tention of every state. No state 
that cannot guarantee this is deserv- 
ing of the name of having a good 
government. Under the Papal rule, 
it is well known that not only in 
Rome did good order prevail, as the 
immense multitude present at the 
(Ecumenical Council can attest, but 
that also on the frontiers of the ter- 
ritories governed by the Pope, af- 
ter the withdrawal of the French 
troops from Veroli and Anagni, the 
energy displayed by the Roman de- 
legate was such as to liberate com- 
pletely the provinces from the bands 
sprung from the civil strifes of 
southern Italy. The city of Rome 
itself was a model of good order and 
of personal safety. Now things are 
changed. Only a few days ago, a 
" guardia di pubblica sicurezza " was 
stopped in the streets and robbed 
of his watch and revolver. There is 
not a day that has not in the daily 
papers ita record of thefts and acts 
of personal violence. Only a few 
days ago, there was a sacrilegious 
robbery in the Church of St. Andrea 
della Valle. On the 8th of Decem- 
ber there was rioting with bloodshed 
in Rome. A band of young students 
under the charge of a religious 
were stoned on Sunday, January 
15. On the i6th, the Very Rev. 
Rector of the " Ospizio degli Orfan- 
elli " was struck with a stone. It 
would be easy to multiply examples, 
but those we have given are quite 
enough to show that progress in se- 
curity of person and property has 
not been attained since the 2oth 
of September, 1870. 

Then public morality in the centre 
of Christianity could not foil to be 
at a far higher standard, now that the 
regeneration of the city of Rome has 
been accomplished. What bitter il- 
lusions fortune delights in dispens- 
ing to those that trust her ! Before 
the entrance of Italian statesmen into 
Rome, vice and immorality did not 
dare raise their heads they could 

Letter from Rome. 

not flaunt themselves on the public 
ways. Now there is a change, and 
the moral order of Italy has entered 
through the breach at the Porta 
Pia. We say no more, the subject is 
a delicate one, and we therefore re- 
frain from penning facts notorious 
in Rome. Surely, none who has re- 
ceived even an elementary training 
in virtue will deem this state of 
things progress an elevation to a 
higher and more perfect state. 

But the King of Italy came to 
Rome to protect the independence 
of the Sovereign Pontiff, to save 
him from the bondage of foreign 
hordes. Now, as the Pope is prin- 
cipally a spiritual sovereign, it is his 
spiritual power that most needs pro- 
tection ; consequently, the King of 
Italy and his faithful servants have 
been most zealous in preventing 
acts or publications that would tend 
to diminish the respect due to the 
Holy Father. 

Incomprehensible, but true the 
very opposite has taken place ! 
We have at hand the satirical pa- 
per, the Don Pirlone Figlio, of Janu- 
ary 19. On its first page is a ridicu- 
lous adaptation of the heading used 
by the cardinal vicar in his official 
notifications to the faithful. The 
same page has an article grossly dis- 
respectful to the Sovereign Pontiff, 
and insulting to the Belgian depu- 
tation, who have just come on to 
present the protest of their coun- 
trymen, and their contributions. 
The Holy Father is styled Giovanni 
Mastai detto Colui ex-disponibile 
anche lui ; the members of the depu- 
tation are given ridiculous names ; 
and the contributors of Peter Pence 
are blackbirds caught in a cage ; final- 
ly, a ridiculous discourse is put in the 
mouth of the Pope, concluding with 
a benediction. The illustration re- 
presents Pius IX. with a boot in his 
hand, in the act of giving it to the 
Emperor of Germany, who figures as 
a cobbler. Such are the illustrations 
and articles one sees exposed to the 
public day by day. When we who 
have seen Rome under far different 
circumstances witness these things, 

is it at all strange that we refuse to 
see " the general respect shown to 
ecclesiastics in the exercise of their 
sacred functions," even though on 
the faith of a Lamarmora it be as- 
serted to exist ? Can we be blamed 
for thinking that anything but pro- 
gress in veneration of religion has 
been the result of the taking of 
Rome ? 

After this, any of the advantages 
arising from the occupation of Rome 
can have no weight sufficient to war- 
rant much attention for they must 
be, as they are, material and of a low 
order chiefly regarding facility of 
communication and despatch in bu- 
siness matters, things desirable in 
themselves, but, it would seem, pur- 
chased at a fearful sacrifice. 

Is this state of things to continue ? 
Is the Italian kingdom on such a 
permanent basis that the Papacy has 
no hope of a change that may give 
it back its possessions ? Or can the 
kingdom of Italy be brought to 
make restitution of what it has 
seized, without itself undergoing 
destruction ? A word in reply to 
each of these queries. And first, 
is this state of things to con- 
tinue ? 

When we consider who the Sover- 
eign Pontiff is, and consult the opi- 
nions of men famed for their fore- 
sight and statesmanship, it is diffi- 
cult to deny that the restoration of 
the Pontiff to his rights is very pos- 
sible. Napoleon Bonaparte, although 
he afterwards made Pius VII. his 
prisoner, left recorded his opinion 
that it was impossible that the Pope 
should be the subject of any one 
sovereign, and that it was providen- 
tial the head of the church had been 
given the possession of a small state 
to secure his independence. M. 
Thiers, in commendation of whom we 
need say nothing, as his reputation is 
world-wide, has clearly and forcibly 
proclaimed this very opinion. In 
the debates on the temporal power 
in the French Senate, in 1867, his 
voice was heard calling on France 
to protect Rome, and it was his 
energy forced from the hypocri- 

Letter from Rome. 


tical government of his country the 
famo,us word, uttered by Rouher, 
that struck terror into Italy 
" Jainais." One would imagine that 
now Rome has fallen, and France is 
reduced to the verge of desperation, 
no man of " liberal " political views 
would be foolhardy enough to risk 
his reputation by reiterating an opi- 
nion like this. Yet, strange to say, 
there is one who has been willing to 
run the risk, and that in the very 
Chamber of Deputies at Florence. 
Only a few weeks ago, the Deputy 
Toscanelli, a liberal, and, we learn, 
a free-thinker, with a courage, a 
strength of argument, and flow of 
wit that gained the respect and atten- 
tion of the house, almost in the words 
of M. Thiers gave the same opinion. 
In the days of the last of the Medici, 
said the distinguished deputy, there 
was a court-jester riding a spirited 
horse down the ViaCalzaioli, in Flo- 
rence. The horse got the better of 
his rider, and started off at full speed. 
" Ho ! Sor Fagioli," cried out one 
of the crowd, " where are you going 
to fall ?" " No one knows or can 
know," was the jester's answer, as 
he held on with both hands. Just 
so is it with the government ; it has 
mounted a policy that is running 
away with it, and neither it nor any 
one else knows where it is going to 
fall. The government has gone to 
Rome, and in Rome it cannot stay ; 
it cannot hold its own face to face 
with the Pope. " I give you, then, 
this advice : leave Rome, declare it 
a free city under the protection of 
the kingdom of Italy." So much for 
the opinions of political men of emi- 
nence ; we will examine the ques- 
tion for a moment on its intrinsic 

We know the Sovereign Pontiff in 
his official capacity of teacher of the 
whole church is infallible in declara- 
tions regarding faith or morals. But 
in other matters of policy? of fact, 
he has no guarantee against error 
beyond what is afforded him by 
the use of the means which he 
has at hand, the information of 
his advisers, and especially of the 

Sacred College of Cardinals. Sup- 
pose for a moment this means of 
information is done away with, or 
made a vehicle of untrue statements. 
Suppose unworthy men are artfully 
intruded on the Pope, and act in ac- 
cordance with instructions received 
from the rulers of Italy. Imagine 
Italy at war or on bad terms with 
the United States or England. A 
crafty statesman sees an opportunity 
of putting in a position to aid him 
in one or the other country an able 
man, through the influence of some 
high ecclesiastic, whose good opi- 
nion will have great weight with 
men of standing or with the people. 
The whole matter is artfully carried 
out. There is an understanding be- 
tween the Italian statesman and his 
American or English friend ; both 
act cautiously and avoid alarming 
susceptibilities. The affair works 
well. Persons around the Pope are 
made to drop a word incidentally in 
praise of the virtue and ability of 
the one whom it is intended to raise 
to power. The Pope in his relations 
with the bishops of foreign coun- 
tries, speaking of the prospects of 
the church in good faith, speaks also 
to the ecclesiastic of whom we have 
made mention, and in favorable 
terms, of the person in question. 
Who that knows human nature can 
fail to see the thorough nature of 
the influence thus used ? The craf- 
ty originators are the ones to blame, 
and the harm done is effected in per- 
fect good faith by the unconscious 
instruments of their design. To 
show we are not building on our fan- 
cy, we turn to the pages of a man 
whose name all revere Cardinal 
Wiseman. In his Recollections of the 
Last Four Popes, he speaks of the 
character of Pius VII. : 

''When no longer a monarch, but a 
captive when bereft of all advice and 
sympathy, but pressed on close by those 
who, themselves probably deceived, tho- 
roughly deceived him, he committed the 
one error of his life and pontificate, in 
1813. For there cnme to him men 'of the 
seed of Aaron," who could not be expect 
ed to mislead him, themselves free and 


Letter from Rome. 

moving in the busiest of the world, who 
showed him, through the loopholes of his 
prison, that world from which he was 
shut out, as though agitated on its sur- 
face, and to its lowest depths, through 
his unbendingness ; the church torn to 
schism, and religion weakened to de- 
struction, from what they termed his 
obstinacy. He who had but prayed and 
bent his neck to suffering was made to 
appear in his own eyes a harsh and cruel 
master, who would rather see all perish 
than loose his grasp on unrelenting but 
impotent jurisdiction. 

" He yielded for a moment of conscien- 
tious alarm ; he consented, though con- 
ditionally, under false but virtuous im- 
pressions, to the terms proposed to him 
for a new concordat. But no sooner had 
his upright mind discovered the error, 
than it nobly and successfully repaired 
it." (Chap. IV.) 

Such are the words of a man writ- 
ing after years of intercourse with 
the first men of Europe. They are 
instructive words for human nature 
is ever the same. There are men still 
in Italy who follow out closely the 
principles of Macchiavelli to whozi 
everything sacred or profane, no 
matter what veneration may have 
surrounded it, is but the means 
to self-aggrandizement and the 
satisfaction of ambition. It is 
for the nations of the world to 
say whether they are willing 
to allow the existence of the per- 
manent danger to themselves, aris- 
ing from the subjection of the spi- 
ritual head of the church to any 
crowned head or even* republic 
whatsoever. Perhaps, of the two, 
the latter would be the more to 
be dreaded. The Roman mobs that 
drove Eugenius IV. from Rome, and 
pelted him as he went down the 
Tiber, or made many another Pope 
seek safety in flight, could be easily 
gotten together again, as the pres- 
ent residents of the Eternal City 
know only too well. 

We answer, then, our first query, 
and say that this state of things can- 
not last. Time, the great remedy of 
human ills, will solve this question, 
and establish the See of Peter on a 

perfectly independent basis inde- 
pendent of all sovereign control, 
even if this be not done shortly 
through the armed interference of 
European powers. 

It is hardly necessary to inquire 
whether the Italian kingdom is so 
firmly constituted that no hope of 
restoration of the Pope is to be seen. 
For ourselves, we think there are in- 
dications that point to a speedy dis- 
solution of this state on the first 
breaking out of a war between Italy 
and any great power. Her policy is 
to avoid entangling alliances, and 
this she is following out, striving to 
propitiate the Emperor of Germany 
for her leaning towards France. 
The first army that will enter the 
peninsula to aid the Pope will shiver 
Italy to fragments. The southern 
provinces have too lively a recollec- 
tion of the days of plenty under 
their kings, and too painful an impres- 
sion of heavy taxation and procon- 
sular domination of the Piedmontese 
race, to hesitate between submission 
to them and the regaining their own 
autonomy, which will make Naples 
again one of the queenly capitals of 
the world. 

One index of the general discon- 
tent or indifference is the small 
number of those who vote at the 
elections in proportion to those 
who are inscribed on the electoral 
lists. The motto proposed by the 
Unttti Cattolica, the foremost Catho- 
lic journal of Italy " Neither elected 
nor electors " has been adopted and 
acted upon by very many through- 
out the country. We feel no diffi- 
culty in saying that the majority of 
the Italians are not with the House 
of Savoy, nor are they in favor of 
United Ital) r . The ruling power has 
the government and the command 
of the army, a fact that quite ac- 
counts for the existing state of 

Our third question, whether the 
kingdom of Italy can be brought to 
make restitution of the territories 
it has seized, without itself under- 
going destruction, remains to be an- 
swered. We believe it cannot, un- 

New Publications, 


less half-measures ahvays more or 
less dangerous be adopted. The 
late spoliation is not more criminal 
than the first, an.d no amount of 
plebiscite can make it legitimate, no 
more than to use the words of the 
able editor of the Um'ld, Cattolica 
the popular approbation of the con- 
demnation of Jesus Christ legiti- 
mized the crucifixion. The claim, 
then, to restitution extends to the 
whole of the former provinces, just- 
ly held by the Popes to supply them 
with the revenue needed to make 
them independent of the precarious 
contributions of ths Peter Pence, 
and which was none too large for 
that purpose. 

Whatever may come, we know the 
future of the church is in the hands 
of One in whose holding are the 
hearts of princes and peoples. What 
we have to do is to pray earnestly 
for our spiritual head, aid him by 
our means, console him with our 
sympathy, and give him whatever 
support, moral or other, it be in our 
power to offer. And while we do so, 
it is a joy to us to know we have 
lessened the grief of his hardships 
by what we have done hitherto, even 
gladdened the hours of his captivity. 
A few days ago, speaking to the 
Belgian deputation, Pius IX. said : 
" Belgium gives me very often proofs 

of her fidelity. Continue in the way 
in which you are walking ; do not 
allow your courage to fail. What is 
happening to-day is only a trial, and 
the church came into existence in 
the midst of trials, lived always 
amid them, and amid them she 
will end her earthly career. It is 
our duty to battle and stand firm in 
the face of danger. . . . We have an 
Italian proverb which says : It is 
one thing to talk of dying ; quite 
another to die. People speak very 
resignedly of persecutions, but 
sometimes it is hard to bear them. 
The world offers to-day a very sad 
spectacle, and particularly this our 
city of Rome, in which we see things 
to which our eyes have not been ac- 
customed. Let us all pray together 
that God may soon deliver his 
church, and re-establish public or- 
der, so deeply shaken. Your efforts, 
your prayers, your pious pilgrim- 
ages, all tend to this end, and I 
therefore bless them with all my 
heart." May the words of the 
Holy Father find an echo in our 
hearts ; let us not lose courage, but 
keep up our efforts, so happily begun, 
and never rest till wrong be righted, 
until we see the most sublime dig- 
nity and power on earth freed from 
the surroundings that would seek to 
make it as little as themselves. 


An Address delivered before the Phi 
Beta Kappa Society of Harvard Uni- 
versity, June 29, 1870. With Notes 
and Afterthoughts. By Oliver Wendell 
Holmes. Boston: James R. Osgood 
& Co. 1871. 

Dr. Holmes is a Benvenuto Cel- 
lini in literature, and everything he 
produces is of precious metal, skil- 

fully enchased, and adorned with 
gems of art. The present address 
is no exception to the general rule, 
but rather an unusually good illus- 
tration of it. It is a remarkably curi- 
ous piece of work, containing many 
interesting facts and speculations 
derived from the author's scientific 
studies on the mechanism of the 
brain. There is nothing in it posi- 


New Publications. 

lively affirmed which is necessarily 
materialistic, as far as we can see ; 
rather, we should say that its doc- 
trine stands on one side of both ma- 
terialism and spiritualism, and can 
be reconciled with either. It can be 
explained, if we have understood 
it correctly, in conformity with the 
Aristotelian and scholastic philoso- 
phy, in such a way as not to preju- 
dice the truth of the distinct and 
spiritual nature of the soul. The 
author, indeed, appears more in- 
clined to that belief than the oppo- 
site, although we are sorry to find 
him expressing himself in so hesitat- 
ing and dubious a manner. When 
he passes from thought to morals, 
he gets out of his element, and dis- 
plays a flippancy and levity which 
may pass very well in humorous 
poetry, but are out of place in treat- 
ing of graver topics. His remarks 
on some points of Catholic doctrine 
are so completely at fault as to show 
his entire incompetency to meddle 
with the subject at all. His language 
in regard to the Council of the 
Vatican and Pius IX. is more like 
that of a pert and vulgar student of 
Calvinistic divinity than that of an 
elegant and refined Cambridge pro- 
fessor. " But political freedom in- 
evitably generates a new type of re- 
ligious character, as the conclave that 
contemplates endowing a dotard with 
infallibility has found out, we trust, 
before this time " (p. 95). Dr. 
Holmes has apparently profited by 
his close observations among that 
class of the female population of 
Boston who are wont to thrust their 
bodies half out of their windows, and 
" exhaust the vocabulary, to each 
other's detriment." We congratu- 
late him, and the learned Society of 
Phi Beta Kappa, on the choice sen- 
tence we have quoted above. We 
trust those Catholics who are dis- 
posed to think that we can make 
use of Harvard University as a place 
of education for our youth, will take 
note of this sample of the language 
they may expect to hear in that and 
similar institutions, and open their 
eyes to the necessity of providing 

some better instruction for their 
sons than can be had at such sources. 
Notwithstanding our high apprecia- 
tion of Dr. Holmes's genius, and the 
great pleasure we have derived from 
his works, we regret to say that we 
must consider his influence on young 
people grievously detrimental. In 
virtue of a reaction from Calvinism, 
he has swung into an extreme of 
rationalism the effect of which is 
checked in his own person by the 
influence of an unusually good heart 
and an early religious education, but 
in itself is sure to overthrow all re- 
verence, faith, and moral principle. 
The whole effect of this address on 
the minds of young men tends to a 
most pernicious result, and encour- 
ages them, with a kind of thought- 
less gaiety, to rush forward in a 
career of mental and moral lawless- 

HOME. Books for Spiritual Reading. 
First Series. Boston : Patrick Dona- 
hoe. 1871. 

Here we have a plain, practical, 
but very attractively and charmingly 
written book of spiritual reading 
for everybody. It emanates from 
the Convent of Poor Clares, Ken- 
mare, County Kerry, Ireland, who 
are anything but poor in intellectual 
gifts and religious zeal. We suppose 
it is from the pen of the gifted 
authoress of the History of Ireland 
and several other works of the high- 
est literary merit. The idea of the 
volume is apparently taken from 
the " Parable of a Pilgrim " in F. 
Baker's Sancta Sophia, of which it is 
a minute paraphrase and commen- 
tary. Its minuteness, diffuseness, 
and fluency of style are, in our 
opinion, great merits, considering 
the end and object of the book. It 
is easy reading, explains and en- 
larges on each topic at length and 
in detail with great tact and dis- 
cretion, and is eminently fitted to 
help a person in the acquisition and 
practice of the homely, everyday 
Christian virtues. Its bread is of 
fine quality, broken up fine. It is 

New Publications. 


eminently adapted for the young and 
simple, timid beginners, and persons 
living an everyday busy life, and also 
for the sick, the suffering, and the 
afflicted. At the same time, a pro- 
fessor of theology, or even a bishop, 
may read it with great profit and 
satisfaction. We recommend this 
book with more than usual earnest- 
ness, and we trust the good Sis- 
ters of Kenmare will keep on with 
their series, which must certainly 
produce an extraordinary amount of 

Translated from the Spanish of Fernan 
Caballero. New York : Catholic Pub- 
lication Society. 

Fernan Caballero is the nom de 
plume of Madame de Baer, who is 
now an aged lady, though still in the 
full possession of her intellectual 
powers. We admire the old Spanish 
character, customs, faith, and chival- 
ry. Mme. de Baer is their champion, 
and the enemy of the revolution 
which has desolated that grand old 
Catholic country. This is one of her 
stories written to that point, and we 
trust it will find even here many a 
reader who will sympathize with the 
author, and help to neutralize the 
poison, too widely spread, of modern 
liberalism the deadly epidemic of 
Spain and all Europe. It is a very 
suitable book for school premiums, 
and ought to be in every library. 
Other persons, also, will find it a 
lively and entertaining book, with a 
strong dash of the peculiar quaint- 
ness usually found in Spanish stories. 

M.D., Professor of Modern History in 
the University of Cambridge. (Author 
of " Ecce Homo.") Boston : Roberts 
Brothers. 1871. 

These essays are cleverly and 
agreeably written. Their topics are 
very miscellaneous, but all of them 
important and interesting. Those 
on "Liberal Education in Universi- 
ties," "English in Schools," "The 

Church as a Teacher of Morality," 
and the " Teaching of Politics," are 
especially worthy of attention. Some 
of the writers of the" Broad Church," 
to which Prof. Seelye belongs, are 
quite remarkable for their honorable 
candor, largeness of mind, original- 
ity of thought, and, in certain re- 
spects, approximation to Catholic 
views. We like to read them better 
than most other Protestant writers, 
and often find their writings instruc- 
tive. We have seldom seen a book 
written by a Protestant in which a 
Catholic can find so many things to 
approve of and be pleased with, and 
so few in which he is obliged to dif- 
fer from the author, as the present 

Translated from the French by a Secu- 
lar Priest. London : Richardson. 1870. 

The Ven. Grignon de Montfort 
was a priest of noble birth, who 
lived and labored in France as a 
missionary, and became the founder 
of two religious congregations, dur- 
ing the eighteenth century. He 
was a person of great individuality 
of character and many peculiar gifts 
and traits, which made his life quite 
a salient one, if we may be allowed 
the expression. His talents for 
poetry, music, and the arts of de- 
sign, and a marked poetic fervor in 
his temperament, gave a certain zest 
and raciness to his career as a mis- 
sionary, and were a great help to his 
success. His character was chival- 
rous and daring, and his sanctity 
shows a kind of exaltation, a sort of 
gay mockery of danger, contempt, 
privation, and suffering, which it al- 
most takes one's breath away to con- 
template. His life was very short, 
but his labors, persecutions, and 
services were very great. He is 
best known in modern times by his 
extraordinary devotion to the Bless- 
ed Virgin. It is altogether probable 
that ere long the process of his can- 
onization will be completed, and a 
decree of the Vicar of Christ enrol 


New Publications. 

his name among the saints. Those 
who are capable of profiting by an 
example, and by writings of such 
sublime spirituality, will find some- 
thing in this book seldom to be met 
with even in the Lives of Saints. 

George F. Barker, M.D., Professor of 
Physiological Chemistry in Yale Col- 
lege, New Haven, Conn. Charles C. 
Chatfield & Co. 1870. 
Chemical science, as Prof. Barker 
remarks in his preface, has indeed 
undergone a remarkable revolution 
in the last few years ; and the text- 
books which were excellent not long 
ago are now almost useless, as far 
as the theoretical part of the subject 
is concerned. And though, in all 
probability, more brilliant discove- 
ries as to the internal constitution of 
matter, the formation of molecules, 
and the nature of the chemical ad- 
hesion of atoms are in store than 
any yet made, still the conclusions 
recently attained on these points 
maybe considered as well establish- 
ed, and can by no means be con- 
sidered as crude speculations, to be 
overthrown to-morrow by others of 
no greater weight. Chemistry seems, 
at present, to promise better than 
ever before to solve the problem of 
the arrangement of the ultimate 
material elements, though, perhaps, 
the laws of the forces which con- 
nect them, and the nature of the 
molecular movements, will be rather 
obtained from other sources. 

Prof. Barker's book is an admir- 
able exponent of the science in its 
present state. The first quarter of 
it is devoted to an explanation of 
the principles of theoretical chemis- 
try, and it is this, of course, which 
is specially interesting and import- 
ant at present, though the remain- 
der will be found much easier read- 
ing. The work is one, however, 
which is meant to be studied, rather 
than merely read, containing a great 
deal of information, and giving much 
material for mental exercise through- 
out. It would not have been easy 

to put more valuable matter in its 
few pages, and its merits as a text- 
book are very great. The type is 
very clear, and the illustrations nu- 
merous and excellent. 

J. Gaskin. Dublin : W. B. Kelly. New 
York : The Catholic Publication So- 
ciety, 9 Warren Street. 1871. 

If Mr. Gaskin had not stated in 
his preface that " the present work 
is, in great part, based on a lecture 
delivered by the author before a 
highly influential, intelligent, and 
fashionable audience," we would 
have anticipated, from the title of 
his book, something not only inter- 
esting but instructive relating to 
Irish history. But knowing very 
well what pleases a highly fashion- 
able audience in the dwarfed and 
provincialized capital of Ireland, this 
announcementwas enough to satisfy 
us that his conception of what makes 
history was neither very lucid nor 
comprehensive. It is unnecessary 
to say that, within the shadow of 
Dublin Castle, any rash man who 
would be unthinking enough to 
write or speak seriously about the 
history of Ireland that protracted 
tragedy upon which the curtain has 
not yet fallen would soon be voted 
a bore, or something worse, by the 
fashionable people who are privi- 
leged once or twice a year to kiss the 
hand of the representative of royal- 
ty. But the author is evidently too 
well bred to commit such a solecism, 
and accordingly, under a very at- 
tractive exterior, he treats us to all 
sorts of gossip, from the doings of 
Gra na' Uile, a sort of western Vi- 
queen, to the murder of Captain Glas, 
a Scotch privateersman. The inter- 
vals between these two great histori- 
cal events is filled up with the mock 
regal ceremonies that used to be ob- 
served annually on the island of 
Dalkey; reminiscences of Swift, Dr. 
Delaney, Curran, and other distin- 
guished men of the last century, 
which, though not new, are pleasant 
to read ; and some correct and ela- 

New Publications. 


borate descriptions of scenery in the 
suburbs of Dublin, which will not be 
without interest to those who have 
visited that part of Ireland. The 
Varieties is not a book which will 
find much favor with historical stu- 
dents, but for railroad and steam- 
boat travellers, who wish to read as 
they run, and as a book for the 
drawing-room, being light in style 
and handsomely illustrated, it will 
be found entertaining and agree- 

THOLOGICAL ART. By Clara Erskine 
Clement. With Descriptive Illustra- 
tions. New York : Hurd & Houghton. 

The best thing we can say about 
this book is that it affords another 
striking oroof that the Catholic 
Church is the genius of all true 
poetry and art. One-half of the 
volume is devoted to sketches of 
the lives of Catholic saints, the other 
half being equally divided between 
legends of German localities and the 
gods and goddesses of Greece and 
Rome. We look in vain for some 
notice of works of art or poetic le- 
gend to which Protestantism, with 
its heroes, or modern Rationalism, 
with no heroes, has given inspira- 
tion. The authoress, however, is 
not a Catholic, for she calls us 
" Romanists," a vulgar term, the use 
of which, she ought to know, we con- 
sider as impertinent and insulting. 

False legends and true biographies 
of our saints are strung together 
without discrimination. This we 
would not complain of so much, if, 
as she would seem to imply, they are 
both illustrated by art ; but the in- 
stances in which these apocryphal 
and unworthy stories have been 
chosen by the painter or sculptor as 
fitting subjects are exceedingly rare, 
and where they are, as in the case 
of Diirer's painting of " St. John 
Chrysostom's Penance," which is 
reproduced by the authoress (shall 
we say with her in the preface, " to 
interest and instruct her children "?), 
they bear evidence of an art de- 

graded in inspiration and debased 
in morals. 

GLE FOR IRELAND. By D. P. Conyng- 
ham. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 

This short historical novel has 
been written for two purposes to 
disprove the correctness of the say- 
ing, attributed to Voltaire, that the 
Irish always fought badly at home, 
and to illustrate, in a popular man- 
ner, the struggle between James II. 
and his son-in-law, the Prince of 
Orange. With due respect to the 
author, we submit that too much 
importance has already been attach- 
ed to Voltaire's ipse dixit with re- 
gard to the fighting qualities of the 
Irish. It is of little importance, in- 
deed, what that gifted infidel has 
said about anything or anybody, as 
it is pretty well understood in our 
day that among his numerous fail- 
ings veracity was not very conspicu- 
ous. Mr. Conyngham has, however, 
succeeded very creditably in accom- 
plishing his main object, and pre- 
sents us with a succinct and truthful 
view of the rival forces which, for 
three years, contested for the Eng- 
lish crown on the soil of Ireland. 
There is very little plot in the story, 
the principal interest centring in 
the acts of Sarsfield and other well- 
known historical personages ; but 
the narrative of the war is well sus- 
tained, and the author's conception 
of the inner life of his principal 
characters is in the main correct and 

ARTHUR BROWN. By Rev. Elijah Kel- 
Boston : Lee & Shepard. 

This is one of that class of books 
for boys full of hair-breadth escapes 
and improbable incidents. It is the 
first of The Pleasant Cove Scries, 
which means five more just like this. 
The fact that the characters have 
been introduced in a former " series," 
and are to be carried forward through 
the coming five volumes, renders 
the story a little obscure at times. 
This, however, will not prevent 


New Publications. 

boys who enjoy tales of perilous 
sea voyages and marvellous en- 
counters from finding this volume 
interesting and amusing. 

or, Moral, Doctrinal, and Liturgical 
Explanations of the Prayers and Cere- 
monies of the Mass. By Very Rev. 
John T. Sullivan, V.G. Diocese of 
Wheeling, W. Va. New York : D. & 
J. Sadlier & Co. I2mo. 1870. 
The subject and nature of this lit- 
tle book are sufficiently expressed 
in its title. The position of the 
Very Reverend author, and approba- 
tions by the Archbishop of New York 
and the Right Reverend Bishop of 
Wheeling, testify to its sound doc- 
trine and usefulness as a book of in- 

Beecher Stowe. Boston : Fields, Os- 
good & Co. 

Pussy Willow is a charming girl 
and a charming woman, but we think 
that it is not often that nature ac- 
complishes so much even with the 
aid of country air and simple, health- 
ful habits and pleasures. However, 
we must not forget the fairy's gift, 
of always looking at the bright side 
of things. Pity we had not more 
of us this gift ! But the girls must 
read for themselves. 

FOLIA ECCLESIASTICA, ad notandum Mis- 
sas persolvendas et persolutas, pro 
clero ordinata et disposita. Neo- 
Eboraci et Cincinnati! : surnptibus et 
typis Friderici Pustet. 
This little memorandum book will 
be found quite useful for the purpose 
designed. Besides the pages appro- 
priated to the record of Masses, there 
are also " Indices Neo-Communican- 
tium, Confirmandorum, Confraterni- 
tatum," etc., etc. 


. THE PRESENT TIME. Third edition. 
Revised. Boston : Lee & Shepard. 
New York : Lee, Shepard & Dilling- 
ham. i vol. 8vo. 
Before its republication, this work 

should have been placed in the 

hands of a competent editor. As it 
is now, it is very objectionable, and 
loses all its value. Here is one quo- 
tation, taken at random. Under the 
year 1362, we read : " Pope Urban V. 
at Avignon ; beautifies the city of 
Rome ; presents the right arm of 
Thomas Aquinas to Charles V. of 
France as an object of worship." 

POEMS. By Bret Harte. Boston : Fields, 

Osgood & Co. 1871. 

We have read this unpretending 
little volume with much interest. 
The author is a true poet, and has 
the merit of originality quite as much 
as of descriptive power. His more 
serious poems display a high appre- 
ciation of the beautiful and the ro- 
mantic, and there is a Catholic tone 
about them. Those in dialect, with 
the other humorous pieces, are 
equally pleasing in their way. The 
former, particularly, reflect a side of 
life which is generally supposed the 
least poetical cf all. Mr. Bret Harte 
has "gathered honey from the weed." 

CORRIGENDUM. In the article 
" Which is the School of Religious 
Fraudulence," in our last number, 
p. 791, col. 2, near the middle, the 
sentence beginning, " It is no mark 
of falsity, therefore, in any docu- 
ment," should be thus concluded: 
" that it occurs there, unless it oc- 
curs there alone and nowhere else." 


From JNO. MURPHY & Co., Baltimore : A Circular 
Letter on the Temporal Power of the Popes ; 
addressed to the clergy and laity of the Vicari- 
ate Apostolic of North Carolina. By the Right 
Rev. James Gibbons, D.D. 

From the YOUNG CRUSADER Office, Boston : Pro- 
tests of the Pope and People against the Usur- 
pation of the Sovereignty of Rome by the 
Piedmontese Government. 

From P. J. KENEDY. New York : The Life of St. 
Mary of Egypt. To which is added the Life of 
St. Cecilia and the Life of St. Bridget. 

From PETER F. CUNNINGHAM, Philadelphia: The 
Acts of the Early Martyrs. Bv J. H. M. Fas- 
tre", SJ. 

From LEYPOLDT & HOLT, New York : Across 
America and Asia. By Raphael Pumpelly. 
Fifth edition. Revised. Art in the Nether- 
lands. By H. Taine. Translated by J. Du- 

From PATRICK DONAHOE, Boston : The " Our 
Father." Being illustrations of the several pe- 
titions of the Lord's Prayer. Translated from 
the German of the Rev. Dr. J. Emanuel Veith, 
by the Rev. Edward Cox, D.D. 

From ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston : Ad Clerum : 
Advice to a Young Preacher. Bv Joseph 
Parker, D.D. 



VOL. XIIL, No. 74. MAY, 1871. 


letter to his clergy on the first coun- 
cil, The Vatican and its Definitions, to 
which are appended the two consti- 
tutions the council adopted the one 
the Constitutio de Fide Catholica, and 
the other the Constitutio Dogmatica 
Ptima de Ecclesia the case of Hono- 
rius, and the Letter of the German 
bishops on the council, though con- 
taining little that is new to our read- 
ers, is a volume which is highly 
valuable in itself, and most conve- 
nient to every Catholic who would 
know the real character of the coun- 
cil and what is the purport of its 
definitions. Few members of the 
council were more assiduous in their 
attendance on its sessions or took 
a more active part in its deliberations 
than the illustrious Archbishop of 
Westminster, and no one can give a 
more trustworthy account of its dis- 
positions or of its acts. We are 
glad, therefore, that the volume has 
been republished in this country, and 

* The Vatican Council and its Definitions. A 
Pastoral Letter to the Clergy. By Henry Ed- 
ward. Archbishop of Westminster. 'New York: 
D. & J. Sadlier. 1871. 12010, pp. 252. 

hope it will be widely read both by 
Catholics and non-Catholics. 

The character of the book and of 
the documents it contains renders any 
attempt by us either to review it or to 
explain it alike unnecessary and im- 
pertinent. The pastoral is addressed 
officially by the Archbishop to his 
clergy; the constitutions or definitions 
adopted by the Holy Synod declare, 
by the assistance of the Holy Ghost, 
what is, and always has been, and 
always will be the Catholic faith on 
the matters defined ; and we need not 
say that we cordially accept it as the 
word of God, and as the faith which 
all must accept ex animo, and without 
which it is impossible to please God. 
What the council has defined is the 
law of God, and binds us as if spoken 
to us directly by God himself in a 
voice from heaven. He speaks to us 
by his church, his organ, and her 
voice is in fact his voice, and what 
we take on her authority we take on 
his authority, for he assists her, 
vouches for her, and commands us 
to believe and obey her. 

There are, indeed, enemies of the 
faith who pretend that Catholics be- 

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by REV. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of 
the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


The Church Accredits Herself. 

lieve solely on the authority of the 
church as an organic body ; but this 
is a misapprehension. We believe 
what is revealed on the veracity of 
God alone, because it is his word, 
and it is impossible for his word to 
be false; and we believe that it is his 
word on the authority or testimony 
of the church, with whom the word is 
deposited, and who is its divinely 
commissioned keeper, guardian, wit- 
ness, and interpreter. The word of 
God is and must be true, and there is 
and can be no higher ground of faith 
or even of knowledge than the fact 
that God says it. Nothing can be 
aiore consonant to reason than to 
believe God on his word. Certainly, it 
is answered, if we have his word; 
but how do I know that what is pro- 
posed to me as his word is his word ? 
We take the fact that it is his word 
on the authority of the Catholic 
Church; we believe it is his word 
because she declares it to be his 
word. It is permitted no one to 
doubt the word of God is conceded ; 
but whence from that fact does it 
follow that I am not permitted to 
doubt the word of the church ? Or 
why should I believe her testimony 
or her declaration rather than that of 
any one else ? 

To this question the general an- 
swer is, that she has been divinely 
instituted, and is protected and as- 
sisted to bear true witness to the 
revelation which it has pleased God 
to make, to proclaim it, declare its 
sense, and condemn whatever im- 
pugns or tends to obscure it. Sup- 
posing she has been instituted and 
commissioned by our Lord himself, 
for this very purpose, her authority 
is sufficient for believing whatever 
she teaches and declares or defines 
to be the word of God is his word 
or the truth he has revealed ; for the 
divine commission is the divine 
word pledged for her veracity and 

infallibility. This is plain enough and 
indubitable ; but how am I to know 
or to be assured that she has been 
so instituted or commissioned, and is 
so assisted ? 

There are several answers to this 
question ; but we would remark, 
before proceeding to give any an- 
swer, that the church is in possession, 
has from the moment of the descent 
of the Holy Ghost upon the apos- 
tles on the day of Pentecost claimed 
to be in possession of the authority in 
question, and has had her claim ac- 
knowledged by the whole body of 
the faithful, and denied by none ex- 
cept those who deny or impugn 
authority itself. Being in possession, 
it is for those who question her right 
to show that she is wrongfully in 
possession. They are, to use a legal 
term, the plaintiffs in action, and 
must make out their case. Every 
one is presumed in law to be inno- 
cent till proven guilty. The church 
must be presumed to be rightfully in 
possession till the contrary is shown. 
They who question her possession 
must, then, adduce at least prima 
fade evidence for ousting her before 
she can be called upon to produce 
her title-deeds. This has never been 
done, and never can be done ; for, if 
it could be done, some of our able and 
learned Protestant divines would, in 
the course of the last three hundred 
years and over, have done it. There is, 
then, in reality no need, in order to jus- 
tify the faith of Catholics, to prove by 
extrinsic testimony the divine institu- 
tion and commission of the church to 
teach all men and nations all things 
whatsoever God has revealed and 
commanded to be believed. 

But we have no disposition to 
avail ourselves just now of what some 
may regard as a mere legal techni 
cality. We answer the question by 
saying the church is herself the wit- 
ness in the case, and accredits her- 

The Church Accredits Herself. 


self, or her existence itself proves her 
divine institution, commission, and 
assistance or guidance. 

The church was founded by our 
Lord on the prophets and apostles, 
being himself the chief corner-stone. 
This is asserted here as a simple his- 
torical fact. Historically, the church 
has existed, without any break or 
defect of continuity, from the apos- 
tles down to our times. Its un- 
broken existence from that time to 
this cannot be questioned. It has 
been a fact during all that period 
in the world's history, and too mo- 
mentous a fact to escape observation. 
Indeed, it has been the one great 
fact of history for over eighteen 
hundred years; the central fact 
around which all the facts of history 
have revolved, and without which 
they would be inexplicable and 
meaningless. This assumed or grant- 
ed, it must be conceded that she 
unites as one continuous fact, in one 
body, the apostles and the believers 
of to-day. She is a continuous fact ; 
a present fact during all the period 
of time that has elapsed between the 
apostles and us, and therefore is alike 
present to them and to us. Her exist- 
ence being unbroken, she has never 
fallen into the past ; never been a past 
fact ; but has always been and is a pres- 
ent fact ; and therefore as present with 
the apostles to-day as she was on the 
day of Pentecost, when they received 
the Holy Ghost ; and therefore pre- 
sents us not simply what they taught, 
but what they teach her now and 
here. She bridges over the abyss 
of time between our Lord himself 
and us, and makes us and the 
apostles, so to speak, contempora- 
ries ; so that, as it is our Lord him- 
self we hear in the apostles, so it is 
the apostles themselves that we hear 
in her. 

This continuity or unity of the 
church in time is a simple historical 

fact, and as certain as any other his- 
torical fact, and even more so, for it 
is a fact that has never fallen into 
the past, and to be established only 
by trustworthy witnesses or docu- 
ments. By it the church to-day is 
and must be as apostolic and as au- 
thoritative as in the days of the apos- 
tles Peter, James, and John. Indi- 
viduals die, but the church dies not: 
individuals are changed, as are the 
particles of our bodies, but the church 
changes not. As in the human race 
individuals pass off, but the race re- 
mains always the same; so in the 
church individuals pass away, but 
the church remains unchanged in all 
its integrity ; for the individuals die 
not all at once, and the new indivi- 
duals born in their places are born 
into the one identical body, that does 
not die, but remains ever the same. 
No matter, then, how many genera- 
tions succeed one another in their 
birth and death, the body of the 
church is subject to no law of suc- 
cession, and remains not only one 
and the same church, but always the 
one and the same present church. 
The church of to-day is identically 
the church of yesterday, the church 
of yesterday is identically the church 
of the day before, and thus step by 
step back to the apostles ; on the oth- 
er hand, the church in the time of 
the apostles is identically the church 
of their successors down through all 
succeeding generations of individuals 
to us. There has never been an in- 
terval of time when it was not, or 
when it lost its identity as one and 
the same body. The church is pre- 
cisely as apostolic now as it was in 
the beginning, or as were the apostles 

Now, if we suppose our Lord com- 
municated the whole revelation to 
the apostles either by his personal 
teaching or by the inspiration of the 
Holy Ghost, then he communicated 


The Church Accredits Herself. 

it to her, and she is an eye and ear 
witness to the fact of revelation in 
the same sense that the apostles 
were, and her historical identity with 
the apostles makes her a perpetual 
and contemporary witness to the fact 
of revelation and to what is revealed. 
What misleads not a few on this 
point is that they regard the church 
as a mere aggregation of individuals, 
born and dying with them, or suc- 
ceeding to herself with the succes- 
sion of each new generation of in- 
dividuals. But this is no more the 
case with the church than with the 
human race itself, or with any parti- 
cular nation that has an historical 
existence through several generations. 
In all historical bodies the genera- 
tions overlap one another, and no 
generation of individuals is either 
aggregated to the body or segregat- 
ed from it all at once. The body 
does not die with the receding nor 
is it born anew with the acceding 
generation. The church, indeed, is 
an organism, not a mere aggregation 
of individuals, but even if it were 
the conclusion would not follow ; for 
though the individuals are successive- 
ly aggregated or affiliated, they are 
aggregated or affiliated to her as a 
persistent body, and though they pass 
off successively, they leave the body 
standing, one and identical. This is 
the simple historical fact. The church, 
as an ever-present body, remains one 
and the same identical body amid 
all the successive changes of indivi- 
duals, and is just as much the deposi- 
tary of the revelation and an eye- 
witness of the facts recorded in the 
Gospels, as were the apostles them- 

We say, then, the church is herself 
the witness, and a competent and 
credible witness, to her own divine 
commission to teach and declare the 
word of God which he has revealed, 
and no better, no more competent 

or credible witness is needed or, in 
fact, conceivable. She is competent 
because she is the identical apostoli- 
cal body, the contemporary and the 
eye-witness through the successive 
ages of the facts to which she testi- 
fies. She is a credible witness, be- 
cause even as a human body it would 
be hardly possible for her either to 
mistake or to misrepresent the facts 
to which she testifies, since they are 
always present before her eyes, since, 
however her individual members 
may change, she herself knows no 
change with lapse of time, and no 
succession. She could not forget the 
faith, change it, or corrupt it, because 
there is at all times in her commu- 
nion an innumerable body ot living 
witnesses to its unity, purity, and in- 
tegrity, who would detect the change 
or alteration and expose it. It is 
not with her as it would be with a 
book having a limited circulation. 
Copies of the book could easily be 
altered or interpolated without detec- 
tion ; but the living testimony of the 
church, spread over the whole world 
and teaching all nations, cannot be 
interpolated or corrupted. It is on 
the fidelity of the church, her vi- 
gilant guardianship, and uniform 
testimony that we depend for our 
confidence in the genuineness and au- 
thenticity of our copies of the sacred 
writings, and it is worthy of note 
that in proportion as men throw off 
the authority of the church, and re- 
ject her traditions, they lose that con- 
fidence, and fail to agree among 
themselves what books, if any, are 
inspired ; so that without the testimo- 
ny of the church the Holy Scriptures 
themselves cease to be an authority 
in matters of faith. 

In human tribunals the supreme 
court is presumed to know the law 
.which constitutes it, and it defines 
its own jurisdiction and powers. It 
declares the law of which it is the 

The Church Accredits Herself. 


depositary and guardian, and though 
the judges have only their human 
wisdom, learning, and sagacity, it is 
remarkable how few mistakes through 
a long series of ages they commit 
as to what is or is not the law they 
are appointed to administer, and 
nearly all the mistakes they do com- 
mit are due to the changes the l<^gis- 
lature makes in the law or in the 
constitution of the court. Why should 
the church be less competent to 
judge of the' law under which she 
is constituted, and to define her jur- 
isdiction and powers? And since 
her constitution, as well as the law 
she administers, changes not, why 
should she be less exempt, even as a 
human court, from mistakes in inter- 
preting and declaring the law, than 
the supreme court of England or 
the United States ? What higher 
authority can there be to judge of 
her own constitution and the law 
given her to administer than the 
church herself? 

The church received her constitu- 
tion in the commission given to the 
apostolic body with whom she is one 
and identical, and the law or reveal- 
ed word in the reception of it by the 
apostles. Being one and identical 
body with them, she has received 
what they received, and knows what 
they knew, is taught what they were 
taught, understands it in the same 
sense that they did, and has the same 
authority to interpret and declare it 
that they had. If they were com- 
missioned to teach all nations to ob- 
serve all things whatsoever our Lord 
commanded them, she is commission- 
ed in their commission to do the 
same. If he promised them his effi- 
cacious presence and assistance to 
the consummation of the world, he 
made the promise to her ; if he made 
Peter the prince of the apostles, the 
father and teacher of all Christians, 
and gave him plenary authority to 

feed, rule, and govern the universa 
church, he made the successor of 
Peter the visible head of the church, 
and gave him the same authority. 
The church, being the apostolic body 
persisting through all times, knows 
what the apostles received, knows 
therefore both her own constitution 
and the law deposited with her, and is 
as competent to judge of them as the 
apostles were, and has full authority 
to interpret and declare both, and it 
is to her, as to the supreme court of 
a nation, to judge what they are, and 
to define her constitution, jurisdiction, 
and powers. 

The objection which many make 
to this conclusion arises from their 
confounding the authority of the 
church to interpret and define the 
law and, as a part of the law, her 
own constitution, jurisdiction, and 
powers or functions with the authori- 
ty to make the law : a mistake like 
that of confounding the supreme 
court of the United States with Con- 
gress. The church, like the court or 
the supreme executive, may make her 
own rules and orders what are 
called the orders and rules of court, 
for the purpose of carrying out the 
intent of the law but she no more 
makes the law than does the civil 
court make the law under which it is 
constituted, and which it administers. 
God alone is the lawgiver or law- 
maker, and his revealed word is the 
law the law for the human reason 
and will, and which binds all men in 
thought, word, and deed. We want 
no church, as the supreme judge of 
the law, to tell us this, for it is a dic- 
tamen of reason itself. It is the re- 
vealed word of God, which again is 
only his will, the will of the supreme 
Lawgiver that is the law under 
which the church is constituted, and 
which she guards, interprets, and de- 
clares, whenever a question of law 
arises. She does not make the law; 


The Church Accredits Herself. 

she keeps, interprets, declares, and 
defends or vindicates it. Even with 
only human wisdom, she can no more 
make the law, or declare that to be 
law which is not, than the supreme 
civil court can declare that to be civil 
law Avhich is not civil law. The ob- 
jection, therefore, is not well taken. 

The law, it is agreed on all hands 
that is, the revelation, whether writ- 
ten or unwritten was deposited with 
the apostles, then it was deposited, as 
we have seen, with the church iden- 
tical with the apostolic body. Now, 
she knows, as the apostles knew, what 
she received, the law committed to 
her charge, and, as she is constituted 
by the law she has received, she 
knows, and cannot but know, her 
own constitution and powers, also 
what promises, if any, she has re- 
ceived from her divine Lawgiver and 
Founder. The promises of God can- 
not fail; and if he has. promised her 
his assistance as an immunity from 
error she knows it, and knows that 
her judgments of law, or in matters 
of faith, are through that assistance 
infallible. Of all these questions she 
is the divinely constituted judge. She 
is the judge of the law constituting 
her, of her own appointment and 
commission, and of her rights, pow- 
ers, and jurisdiction, no less than of 
the law or revelation committed to 
her charge, for all this is included in 
the law. If she defines that in her 
commission is included the promise 
of the divine assistance to protect 
her from error in interpreting and de- 
claring the law that is, the faith, the 
revealed word of God then of all 
this she judges infallibly, and she is 
the infallible authority, not for believ- 
ing what God has revealed for that 
is believed on the veracity of God 
alone but for believing that what she 
teaches as his revealed word is his 
revealed word, and therefore the law 
we are to obey in thought, word, 

deed, as the supreme court is the 
authority for defining its own consti- 
tution and powers, and what is or is 
not the law of the state. Say we not, 
then, truly that the church is her 
own witness and accredits herself? 
Say we not truly, also, that she is the 
faithful and infallible witness to the fact 
of revelation, and teacher and judge 
of what God has or has not reveal- 
ed ? The fact, then, that the church 
defines that she is the divinely ap- 
pointed guardian and infallible teach- 
er and judge of revelation, is all we 
need to know in order to know that 
it is God we believe in believing her. 
None of the sects can apply this 
argument to themselves ; for no oe 
of them can pretend to be the iden- 
tical apostolical body, or to span the 
distance of time from the apostles to 
us, so as to be at once their contem- 
porary and ours. They all have 
either originated too late or have died 
too soon for that. Not one of them 
can pretend to have originated in the 
apostolic communion, and to have 
existed as one continuous body down 
to us. There were sectaries in the 
lifetime of the apostles, but they were 
not in the apostolic communion, but 
separated from it ; and there is, as far 
as we know, no sect in existence that 
originated in apostolic times. Some 
of the Gnostic sects sprang up at a 
very early day, but they have all 
disappeared, though many of their 
errors are revived in our day. The 
Nestorian and Jacobite sects still 
subsist in the East, but they were 
born too late to be of apostolic ori- 
gin, and our modern Unitarians 
are not the old Arians continued 
in one unbroken body. The Lu- 
theran and Calvinistic sects are of yes 
terday, and they and their numerous 
offshoots are out of the question. 
The poor Anglicans talk of apostolic 
succession indeed, but they separat- 
ed or were cut off from the apostolic 

The Church Accredits Herself. 

body in the sixteenth century, and, 
with all the pretensions of a few of 
them, are only a Protestant sect, born 
of the Reformation, as the greater part 
of them strenuously contend. There is 
something in people's instincts ; and it 
is worthy ot note that no people ^vho 
have cast off the authority of the 
Holy See have ever ventured to as- 
sume as their official name the title 
of APOSTOLIC. Even the schisma- 
tic Greeks, while they claim to be or- 
thodox, do not officially call their 
church apostolic; and the American 
Anglicans assume only the name of 
Protestant Episcopal. Protestant apos- 
tolic would strike the whole world 
as incongruous, and very much as a 
contradiction in terms. 

Let the argument be worth little 
or much, the only body claiming to 
be the church of Christ that has or 
has had an uninterrupted historical 
existence from the apostles to us, is 
the body that is in communion with 
the See of Rome, and recognizes the 
successor of Peter in that see as 
the Vicar of Christ, the teacher of 
the nations, supreme pastor of the 
faithful, with plenary authority from 
our Lord himself to feed, rule, and 
govern the universal church. The 
fact is too plain on the very face of 
history for any one who knows his- 
tory at all to deny it. Nor, in fact, 
does any one deny it. All in reality 
concede it ; and the pretence is that 
to be in communion with that see is 
not necessary in order to be in com- 
munion with Christ, or with the uni- 
versal church. 

But this is a question of law or of 
its interpretation, and can itself be 
determined only by the supreme 
court instituted to keep, interpret, and 
declare the law. The court of last 
resort has already decided the ques- 
tion. It is res adjudicata, and no long- 
er an open question. The court has 
decided that extra ecclcsiam, nulla 

satus, or, that out of communion 
with the church there is no commu- 
nion with Christ; and that out of 
communion with the Holy See there 
is no communion with the universal 
church, for there is no such church. 
Do you appeal from the decision 
of the court ? To what tribunal ? 
To a higher tribunal ? But there is 
no higher tribunal than the court of 
last resort. None of the sects are 
higher than the church, or competent 
to set aside or overrule her decisions. 
Do you appeal to the Bible ? But 
this were only appealing from the 
law as expounded by the church or 
the supreme court to the law as ex- 
pounded by yourself or your sect. 
Such an appeal cannot be entertain- 
ed, for it is an appeal, not from an 
inferior court to a superior, but from 
the highest court to the lowest. The 
law expounded by the individual or 
the sect is below, not above, the law 
expounded and declared by the 
church. The sect has confessedly 
no authority, and the law expounded 
and applied by the sect is no more 
than the law expounded and applied 
by the private individual ; and no pri- 
vate individual is allowed to expound 
and apply the law for himself, but 
must take it as expounded and applied 
by the court, and the judgment as to 
what the law is of the court of last 
resort is final, and from it, as every 
lawyer knows, there lies no appeal. 
To be able to set aside or overrule 
the judgment of the church, it is ne- 
cessary, then, to have a court of su- 
perior jurisdiction, competent to re- 
vise her judgments and to confirm 
or to overrule them. But, unhappi- 
ly for those who are dissatisfied with 
her judgments, there is and can be 
no such court to which they can ap- 

There might be some plausibility 
in the pretended appeal from the 
church to the Bible, if the church had 


The Church Accredits Herself. 

not the Bible, or if she avowedly 
rejected its divine authority ; but as 
the case stands, such an appeal is 
irregular, illegal, and absurd. The 
church has and always has had the 
Bible ever since it was written. It was, 
as we have seen, originally deposited 
with her, and it is only from her that 
those outside of her communion have 
obtained it or their knowledge of it. 
She has always held and taught it 
to be the divinely inspired and autho- 
ritative written word of God, which 
none of her children are allowed to 
deny or question. There is no op- 
position possible between her teach- 
ing and the Bible, for the Bible is 
included in her teaching, and conse- 
quently no appeal from her teaching 
to the Bible. It would be only an 
appeal from herself to herself. The 
only appeal conceivable in the case 
is from her understanding of the sa- 
cred Scriptures or the revealed word 
of God to your own ; but as you 
at best have confessedly no autho- 
rity to expound, interpret, or de- 
clare the law, your understanding 
of the written word can in no case 
override or set aside hers. 

The Reformers, when they pre- 
tended to appeal from the church to 
the Bible, mistook the question and 
proceeded on a false assumption. 
There never was any question be- 
tween the church and the Bible ; the 
only question there was or could be 
was between her understanding of 
the Bible and theirs, or, as we have 
said, between the Bible as expound- 
ed by the church and the Bible as 
expounded by private individuals. 
This the Reformers did not or would 
not see, and this their followers do 
not or will not see to this day. Now, 
count the authority of the church for 
as little as possible, her understand- 
ing cannot be below that of private 
individuals, and the understanding 
of private individuals can never over- 

ride it, or be a sufficient reason for 
setting it aside. The Reformers had 
recognized the church as the supreme 
authority in matters of faith, and the 
question was not on admitting her 
authority as something hitherto un- 
recognized, but on rejecting an 
authority they had hitherto ac- 
knowledged as divine. They could 
not legally reject it except on a high- 
er authority, or by the judgment of 
a superior court. But there was no 
superior court, no higher authority, 
and they could oppose to her not the 
authority of the Bible, as they pre- 
tended, but at best only their pri- 
vate opinion or views of what it 
teaches, which in no case could count 
for more than her judgment, and 
therefore could not overrule it or au- 
thorize its rejection. 

It is all very well to deny the 
divine commission and authority of 
the church to expound the word and 
declare the law of God ; but a denial, 
to serve any purpose, or to be worth 
anything, must have a reason, and a 
higher reason than has the affirma- 
tion denied. One can deny only by 
an authority sufficient to warrant an 
affirmation. It needs as much rea- 
son to deny as to affirm. The autho- 
rity of the church can really be de- 
nied only by opposing to her a truth 
that disproves it. A simple negation 
is nothing, and proves or disproves 
nothing. Yet the Reformers opposed 
to the church only a simple negation. 
They opposed to her no authority, 
no affirmative truth, and consequent- 
ly gave no reason for denying or un- 
churching her. Indeed, no individ- 
ual or sect ever opposes either to 
the church or to her teaching any- 
thing but simple negation, and no 
one ever makes an affirmation or 
affirms any truth or positive doctrine 
which she does not herself affirm 
or hold and teach. Every known 
heresy, from that of the Docetse down 

The Church Accredits Herself. 


to the latest development of Protes- 
tantism, simply denies what the churqh 
teaches, and affirms nothing which 
she does not herself affirm, as Catho- 
lics have shown over and over again. 
These denials, based as they are on^ 
no principle or affirmative truth, are 
gratuitous, and count for nothing 
against the church or her teaching. 
Who would count the denialby a 
madman that the sun shines in a clear 
sky at noonday ? 

The simple fact is that whoever 
denies the church or her judgments 
does it without any authority or 
reason but his own private opinion or 
caprice, and that is simply no author- 
ity or reason at all. It is not possi- 
ble to allege any authority against 
her or her teaching. Men may cavil 
at the truth, may by their sophistries 
and subtleties obscure the truth or 
involve themselves in a dense men- 
tal fog, so that they are unable to see 
anything distinctly, or to tell where 
they are or in what direction they 
are moving. They may thus imag- 
ine that they have some reason for 
their denials, and even persuade 
others that such is the fact; but when- 
ever the fog is cleared away, and 
they have easted themselves, they can- 
not, if they have ordinary intelligence, 
fail to discover that the truth which 
in their own minds they opposed to 
her or her teaching is a truth which 
she herself holds and teaches as an 
integral part of her doctrine, or as 
included in the depositum of faith 
she has received. Do you say there 
is truth outside of the church ; truth 
in all religions; in all superstitions, 
even ? Be it so ; but there is no 
truth outside of her in any religion or 
superstition that she denies or does 
not recognize and hold, and hold in 
its unity and catholicity. There may 
be facts in natural history, in physics, 
chemistry, in all the special sciences, 
as in the several handicrafts, that she 

does not teach ; but there is no prin- 
ciple of science of any sort that she 
does not hold and apply whenever 
an occasion for its application occurs. 
None of the special sciences have 
their principles in themselves, or do 
or can demonstrate the principles on 
which they depend, and from which 
they derive their scientific character. 
They all depend for their scientific 
character on a higher science, the 
science of sciences, which the church 
and the church alone teaches. The 
principles of ethics, and therefore of 
politics as a branch of ethics, all 
lie in the theological order, and 
without theology there is and can be 
no science of ethics or politics ; and 
hence we see that both, with those who 
reject theology, are purely empirical, 
without any scientific basis. An 
atheist may be moral in his conduct, 
but if there were no God there 
could be no morality; so may an 
atheist be a geometrician, but if there 
were no God there could be no ge- 
ometry. Deny God, and what be- 
comes of lines that may be infinitely 
projected, or of space shading off in- 
to immensity, on which so much in the 
science of geometry depends ? Nay, 
deny God, and what would become 
even of finite space ? Yet without the 
conception of space, which is in 
truth only the power of God to ex- 
ternize his acts, geometry would be 
impossible. All the special sciences 
are secondary, and are really science 
only when carried up to their first 
principles and explained by them. 
What more absurd, then, than the at- 
tempt of scientists to prove by science 
there is no God, or to oppose 
science to the theology of the church, 
without which no science is possible ? 
We need but look at the present 
state of men's minds to see how the 
world gets on without the church. 
Never were men more active or inde- 
fatigable in their researches : they send 

The Church Accredits Herself. 

their piercing glances into all subjects, 
sacred and profane ; they investigate 
the heavens and the earth, the pres- 
ent and the past, and leave no nook or 
corner of nature unexplored, and yet 
there is not a principle of ethics, pol- 
itics, or science that is not denied or 
called in question. In the moral and 
political world nothing is fixed or 
settled, and moral and intellectual 
science, as well as statesmanship, dis- 
appears. Doubt and uncertainty 
hang over all questions, and the dis- 
tinctions between right and wrong, 
just and unjust, as well as between 
good and evil, are obscured and well- 
nigh obliterated. The utmost con- 
fusion, reigns in the whole world ot 
thought, and "men," as a distin- 
guished prelate said to us the other 
day, " are trying the experiment of 
governing the world without con- 
science." All this proves what we 
maintain, that they who deny the 
church, or reject her teaching, have 
no truth to oppose to her, no reason 
for their denial, and no principle on 
which they base their rejection of 
her authority. Their rejection of the 
church and her teaching is purely 
gratuitous, and therefore, if not sin- 
ful, is at least baseless. 

This much is certain, that it is 
either the church or nothing. There 
is no other alternative. Nothing is 
more absurd than for those who re- 
ject the church and her teaching 
to pretend to be Christian teachers 
or believers. They cannot believe 
the revelation God has made on the 
veracity of God alone, for they have 
no witness, not even an unassisted 
human witness, of the fact of revela- 
tion, of what God has revealed, or 
that he has or has not revealed any- 
thing, since they have no witness 
who was the contemporary of our 
Lord and his apostles they were 
none of them born then and they 
have no institution that dates from 

apostolic times, and that has con- 
tinued without break down to the 
present. In fact, what they profess 
to believe, in so far as they believe it 
at all, they believe on the authority 
of the church, or of that very tradi- 
tion which they reject and deny to be 
authority. They agree among them- 
selves in their doctrinal belief only 
when and where they agree with 
the church ; whenever and wherever 
they break from Catholic tradition, 
preserved and handed down by her, 
they disagree and fight with one an- 
other, are all at sea, and have neither 
chart nor compass. Do they tell us 
that they agree in the essentials of 
the Christian faith ? Yet it is only so 
far as they follow Catholic tradition 
that they know or can agree among 
themselves as to what are or 
are not essentials. There is a wide 
difference between what Dr. Pusey 
holds to be essential and what is held 
to be essential by Dr. Bellows. Nearly 
the only point in which the two agree 
is in rejecting the infallible authority 
of the successor of Peter ; and, in re- 
iecting that authority, neither has any 
authority for believing what he be- 
lieves, or for denying what he denies. 
Deny the church, and you have no 
authority for asserting divine reve- 
lation at all, as your rationalists and 
radicals conclusively prove. 

But, happily, the other alternative 
saves us from all these logical incon- 
sistencies. The church meets every 
demand, removes every embarrass- 
ment, and affords us the precise au- 
thority we need for faith, for she is 
in every age and every land a living 
witness to the fact of revelation, and 
an ever-present judge competent to 
declare what God reveals, and to 
teach us what we have, and what we 
have not, the veracity of God for be- 
lieving. She can assure us of the 
divine inspiration and authority of 
the Holy Scriptures, which without 

The Church Accredits Herself. 


her tradition is not provable ; for she 
has received them through the apos- 
tles from our Lord himself. She can 
enable us to read them aright, and 
can unfold to us by her teaching their 
real sense; for the Holy Ghost has 
deposited with her the whole revela- 
tion of God, whether written or un- 
written. Outside of her, men, if 
they have the book called the Bible, 
can make little or nothing of it, can 
come to no agreement as to its sense, 
except so far as they inconsistently 
and surreptitiously avail themselves of 
her interpretation of it. They have 
no key to its sense. But she has the 
key to its meaning in her possession 
and knowledge of all that God re- 
veals, or in the divine instruction she 
has received in the beginning. The 
whole word of God, and the word 
of God as a whole, is included in 
the depositum she has received, and 
therefore she is able at all times and 
in all places to give the true sense 
of the whole, and of the relation 
to the whole of each and every 
part. In her tradition the Bible 
is a book of divine instruction, of 
living truth, of inestimable value, 
and entitled to the profoundest reve- 
rence, which we know it is not in the 
hands of those who wrest it from her 
tradition, and have no clue to its 
meaning but grammar and lexicon. 

The notion that a man who knows 
nothing of the Christian faith, and is 
a stranger to the whole order of 
Christian thought and life, can take 
up the Bible, even when correctly 
translated into his mother-tongue, 
and from reading and studying it ar- 
rive at an adequate knowledge, or 
any real knowledge at all, of Chris- 
tian truth or the revelation which 
God has made to man, is preposter- 
ous, and contradicted by every day's 
experience. Just in proportion as 
men depart from the tradition of faith 
preserved by the church, the Bible 

becomes an unintelligible book, ceas- 
es to be of any use to the mind, 
and, if reverenced at all, becomes, 
except in a few plain moral precepts, 
a source of error much more fre- 
\quently than of truth. One of the 
most precious gifts of God to man 
becomes instead of a benefit a real 
injury to the individual and to socie- 
ty. Our school-boards may, then, 
easily understand why we Catholics 
object to the reading of the Bible in 
schools where the church cannot be 
present to enlighten the pupil's mind 
as to its real and true sense. It 
is the court that keeps the statute- 
books, and interprets and applies the 
law, whether the lex scripta or the 
lex non scripta. 

The church, existing in all ages 
and in all nations as one identical 
body, is a living witness in all times 
and places, as we have said, of the 
fact that God has revealed what she 
believes and teaches, and is through 
his assistance a competent and suffi- 
cient authority for that fact, and to 
interpret and declare the revealed 
law, as much so, to say the least, as 
the supreme court of a. nation is to 
declare what is the law of the state. 
The objection made by rationalists 
and others to believing on the autho- 
rity of the church, or to recognizing 
her authority to declare the faith, is 
founded on the false assumption that 
the church makes the faith, and can 
make anything of faith she pleases, 
whether God has revealed it or not. 
We have already answered this ob- 
jection. The church bears witness 
to the fact of revelation, and declares 
what is or is not the faith God has 
revealed, as the supreme court de- 
clares what is or is not the law of 
the state ; but she can declare noth- 
ing to be of faith that is not of faith, 
or that God has not revealed and 
commanded all men to believe, for 
through the divine assistance she is 

I 5 6 

The Church Accredits Herself. 

infallible, and therefore cannot err in 
matters of faith, or in any matters 
pertaining in any respect to faith and 
morals. Since she cannot err in de- 
claring what God has revealed and 
commanded, we are assured that 
what she declares to be revealed is 
revealed, or to be commanded is com- 
manded, and therefore we know that 
whatever we are required to believe 
as of faith, or to do as commanded 
of God, we have the authority of 
God himself for believing and doing, 
the highest possible reason for faith, 
since God is truth itself, and can nei- 
ther deceive nor be deceived ; and the 
highest possible law, for God is the 
Supreme Lawgiver. It is they who 
reject the church or deny her autho- 
rity that have only an arbitrary and 
capricious human authority, and who 
abdicate their reason and their free- 
dom, and make themselves slaves, 
and slaves of human passion, arro- 
gance, and ignorance. The Catholic 
is the only man who has true mental 
freedom, or a reason for his faith. 
His faith makes him free. It is the 
truth that liberates ; and therefore our 
Lord says, " If the Son shall make 
you free, ye shall be free indeed." 
Who can be freer than he who is held 
to believe and obey only God ? They 
whom the truth does not make free 
may fancy they are free, but they are 
not; they are in bondage, and abject 

The church in affirming herself is 
not making herself the judge in her 
own cause, is not one of the litigants, as 
some pretend, for the cause in which 
she judges is not hers, but that of 
God himself. She is the court insti- 
tuted by the Supreme Lawgiver to 
keep, interpret, and declare his law, 
and therefore to judge between him 
and the subjects his law binds. She, 
in determining a case of faith or mo- 
rals, no more judges in her own cause 
than the supreme court of a nation 

does in defining its own jurisdiction, 
and in determining a case arising un- 
der the law of which it is constituted 
by the national authority the judge. 
She has, of course, the right, as has 
every civil court, to punish contempt, 
whether of her orders or her jurisdic- 
tion, for he who contemns her con- 
temns him who has instituted her ; 
but the questions to be decided are 
questions of law, which she does not 
make, and is therefore no more a 
party to the cause litigated, and no 
more interested or less impartial, than 
is a civil court in a civil action. In- 
deed, we see not, if it pleases Almighty 
God to make a revelation, and to set 
up his kingdom on earth with that 
revelation for its law, how he can 
provide for its due administration 
without such a body as the church 
affirms herself to be, nor how it would 
be possible to institute a higher or 
more satisfactory method of deter- 
mining what the law of his kingdom 
is, than by the decision of a court 
instituted and assisted by him for that 
very purpose. In our judgment, no 
better way is practicable, and no oth- 
er way of attaining the end desired 
is possible. We repeat, therefore, that 
the church meets every demand of 
the case, and removes every real dif- 
ficulty in ascertaining what is the 
faith God has revealed, as well as 
what is opposed to it, or tends to ob- 
scure or impair it. 

It is agreed on all hands, by all 
who hold that our heavenly Father 
has made us a revelation and insti- 
tuted a church, that the Church of 
Rome, founded by Saints Peter and 
Paul, was in the beginning catholic 
and apostolic. If she was so in the 
beginning, she is so now ; for she has 
not changed, and claims no authori- 
ty which she has not claimed and ex- 
ercised, as the occasion arose, from the 
first. She is the same identical body 
as she has been from the beginning. 

The Church Accredits Herself. 


All the sectarian and schismatical 
bodies that oppose or refuse to sub- 
mit to her authority acknowledged 
her authority prior to rejecting it, and 
were in communion with her. The 
change is not hers, but theirs. They 
have changed and gone out from her, 
because they were not of her, but she 
has remained ever the same. Take 
the schismatic Greeks. They origi- 
nally were one body with her, and 
held the successor of Peter in the 
Roman See as primate or head of the 
whole visible church. They got an- 
gry or were perverted, and rejected the 
authority of the Roman Pontiff, and 
have never even to this day ventured 
to call themselves officially the Catho- 
lic or the Apostolic church. The men 
who founded the Reformed Church- 
es so-called the Anglican among 
the rest were brought up in the 
communion of the Catholic Church, 
and acknowledged the supremacy of 
the Roman Pontiff, and the Church 
of Rome as the mother and mistress 
of all the churches. The separation 
was caused by their change, not by 
hers. She held and taught at the 
time of the separation what she had 
always held and taught, and claim- 
ed no authority which she had not 
claimed from the first. Evidently, 
then, it was they and not she that 
changed and denied what they had 
previously believed. She lost indi- 
viduals and nations from her com- 
munion, but she lost not her identi- 
ty, or any portion of her rights and 
authority, as the one and only church 
of Christ, for she holds from God, not 
from the faithful. She has continued 
to be what she was at first, while 
they have gone from one change to 
another, have fallen into a confusion 
of tongues, as their prototypes did at 
Babel ; and Luther and Calvin could 
hardly recognize their followers in 
those who go by their name to-day. 
In the very existence of the church 

through so many changes in the world 
around her, the rise and fall of states 
and empires, assailed as she has been 
on every hand, and by all sorts of 
enemies, is a standing miracle, and a 
>sufficient proof of her divinity. She 
was assailed by the Jews, who cruci- 
fied her Lord and stirred up, wher- 
ever they went, the hostility of the 
people against his holy apostles and 
missionaries ; she was assailed by the 
relentless persecution of the Roman 
Empire, the strongest organization 
the world has ever seen, and the 
greatest political power of which his- 
tory gives any hint an empire 
which wielded the whole power of 
organized paganism ; she was driven 
to the catacombs, and obliged to 
offer up the holy sacrifice under the 
earth, for there was no place for her 
altars on its surface'. Yet she survived 
the empire; emerged from the cata- 
combs and planted the cross on the 
Capitol of the pagan world. She 
had then to encounter a hardly 
less formidable enemy in the Arian 
heresy, sustained by the civil power; 
then came her struggle with the bar- 
barian invaders and conquerors from 
the fifth to the tenth century the 
revolt of the East, or the Greek 
schism; the great schism of the 
West ; the Northern revolt, or the so- 
called Reformation of the sixteenth 
century; and the hostility since of 
the greatest and most powerful states 
of the modern world ; yet she stands 
erect where she did nearly twenty 
centuries ago, maintaining herself 
against all opposition; against the 
power, wealth, learning, and refine- 
ment of this world ; against Jew, 
pagan, barbarian, heretic, and schis- 
matic, and preserving her identity 
and her faith unchanged through all 
the vicissitudes of the world in the 
midst of which she is placed. She 
never could have done it if she had 
been sustained only by human virtue, 

I 5 8 


human wisdom, and human sagacity; 
she could not have survived un- 
changed if she had not been under 
the divine protection, and upheld by 
the arm of Almighty God. The 
fact that she has lived on and pre- 
served her identity, especially if we 
add to the opposition from without 
the scandals that have occurred with- 
in, is conclusive proof that under her 
human form she lives a divine and 
supernatural life ; therefore that she is 
the church of God, and is what she 
affirms herself to be. 

Believing the church to be what 
she affirms herself to be ; believing the 
Roman Pontiff to be the successor of 
Peter, the Vicar of Christ on earth, 
the father and teacher of all Chris- 
tians, we have no fear that she will 
not survive the persecution which 
now rages against her, ,and that the 
Pope will not see his enemies pros- 
trate at his feet. Through all his- 

tory, we have seen that the successes 
of her enemies have been short-lived, 
and the terrible losses they have oc- 
casioned have been theirs, not hers. 
It will always be so. Kings, emperors, 
potentates, states, and empires may 
destroy themselves by opposing her, 
but her they cannot harm. See we 
not how the wrongs done to the 
Holy Father by Italian robbers, 
obeying the dictates of the secret 
societies, some of which, like the 
Madre Natura, date almost from apos- 
tolic times, are quickening the faith 
and fervor of Catholics throughout 
the world ? Not for centuries has 
the Holy Father been so strong in 
the love and devotion of his faithful 
children as to-day. Never is the 
church stronger or nearer a victory 
than when abandoned by all the 
powers of this world, and thrown back 
on the support of her divine Spouse 


ONE of the first objects that strikes 
the mariner ascending the Garonne 
towards Bordeaux is the ancient tow- 
er of St. Michel. I visited it the 
very morning after my arrival in that 
city. It is the belfry of a church of 
the same name, but is separated from 
it, being about forty yards distant. 
It was built in 1472, and is two hun- 
dred and fifty feet high. Formerly, 
it was over three hundred feet in 
height, but the steeple was blown 
down by a hurricane on the 8th 
of September, 1768. The view from 
the top is superb. Before you, like 
a map, lies the whole city a noted 
commercial centre from the time of 

the Caesars encircling a great bend 
of the river. The eye is at first con- 
fused by the mass of roofs, spires, and 
streets, but in a moment singles out 
the great cruciform churches of St. 
Andre, Ste. Croix, and St. Michel. 
They lie beneath like immense 
crosses with arms stretched out a 
perpetual appeal to heaven. Such 
remembrances of Calvary must ever 
stand between a sinful world and the 
justice of Almighty God. How can 
he look down upon all the iniquity 
of a great city, and not feel the si- 
lent Pane nobis of these sacred arms 
extended over it, repeating silently, 
as it were, the divine prayer, " Father, 



forgive them, for they know not what 
they do !" Oh ! what a love for the 
Passion dwelt in the heart of the 
middle ages which built these church- 
es. Absorbed in the thought, I lost 
sight of the city. Its activity, its 
historical associations, the fine build- 
ings and extensive view, all disap- 
pear before the cross. Bordeaux is 
generally thought of only as a wine- 
mart, but it also has holier associa- 
tions. " Every foot-path on this 
planet may lead to the door of a 
hero," it is said, and very few paths 
there are in this Old World that do 
not bring us upon the traces- of the 
saints the most heroic of men, who 
have triumphed over themselves, 
which is better than the taking of a 
strong city. They it was that made 
these great signs of the cross on the 
breast of this fair city, hallowing it 
for ever. 

Beneath the tower of St. Michel 
is a caveau, around which are ranged 
ninety mummies in a state of preser- 
vation said to be owing to the na- 
ture of the soil. Why is it_that eve- 
ry one is enticed down to witness so 
horrid a spectacle ? Dust to dust 
and ashes to ashes .is far preferable 
to these withered bodies, and a quiet 
resting-place, deep, deep in the bo- 
som of mother earth till the resur- 
rection. Edmond About says the 
twelfth century would have embroi- 
dered many a charming legend to 
throw around these bodies, but the 
moderns have less imagination, and 
the guardian of the tower, who dis- 
plays them by the light of his poor 
candle, is totally deficient in poesy. 
Had this writer been at Bordeaux 
on the eve of All Souls' day, he would 
have been invited at the midnight 
hour, " when spirits have power," to 
listen to the lugubrious cries and 
chants that come up from the caveau, 
where, as the popular voice declares, 
these ninety forms are having their 

yearly dance the dance of death .' 
I wonder if the mummy next the 
door, as you gladly pass out into the 
upper air, has his hand still extended 
like an an revoir. . . . Yes, there 
^s one place where we shall meet, 
but not in this repulsive form. May 
we all be found there with glorified 
bodies ! 

The church of St. Michel is older 
than the tower, having been built in 
the twelfth century. It is of the Go- 
thic style, and one of those antique 
churches that speak so loudly to the 
heart of the traveller frontline New 
World one in which we are pene- 
trated with 

"An inward stillness, 

That perfect silence when the lips and heart 
Are still, and we no longer entertain 
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions. 
But God alone speaks in us, and \ve wait 
In singleness of heart that we may know 
His will, and in the silence of our spirits 
That he may do his will, and do that only." 

The ancients had a deep meaning 
when they represented the veiled Isis 
with her finger on her hushed lips. 
The soul profoundly impressed by 
the Divine Presence is speechless. 

In one of the side chapels is the 
tomb of an old bishop of the middle 
ages, in a niche of the wall. On it 
he lies carven in stone, with the mitre 
on his head, and clad in his pontifi- 
cal vestments, and his hands folded 
in prayer. 

" Still praying in thy sleep 
With lifted hands and face supine, 
Meet attitude of calm and reverence deep, 
Keeping thy marble watch in hallowed 

The cathedral of St. Andre is an- 
other of these venerable monuments 
of the past. Founded in the fourth 
century, destroyed by the barbarians, 
restored by Charlemagne, and again 
ruined by the Normans, it was re- 
built in the eleventh century, and 
consecrated by Pope Urban II., in 
1096. I went there at an early hour 



to offer up my thanksgiving for the 
happy end of this stage of my jour- 
ney. The canons were just chanting 
the hours, which reverberated among 
the light arches with fine effect. 
Masses were being offered in various 
chapels, and there were worshippers 
everywhere. I was particularly struck 
with the devout appearance of a ve- 
nerable old man in one of the dim- 
mest and most remote chapels, enve- 
loped in a hooded cloak, with the 
capuche drawn over his head. He 
looked as if his soul, as well as his 
body, was almost done with time. 

Through all these aisles and ora- 
tories, which whispering lips filled 
with the perfume of prayer stream- 
ing through the old windows came 
the morning sun, 

" Whose beams, thus hallowed by the scenes 

they pass, 
Tell round the floor each parable of glass." 

I can still see the purple light fill- 
ing the chapel of the Sacred Heart 
and ensanguining the uplifted Host. 

" A sweet religious sadness, like a dove, 
Broods o'er this place. The clustered pillars 


Are rose'd o'er by the morning sky : 
And from the heaven-hued windows far above, 
Intense as adoration, warm as love, 
A purple glory deep is seen to lie. 
Turn, poet, Christian, now the serious eye, 
Where, in white vests, a meek and holy band, 
Chanting God's praise in solemn order, stand. 
O hear that music swell far up and die ! 
Old temple, thy vast centuries seem but years, 
Where wise and holy men lie glorified ! 
Our hearts are full, our souls are occupied, 
And piety has birth in quiet tears!" 

And all the worshippers in this 
church were turned toward the holy 
East, whence cometh' the Son of 
Man. The glory of the Lord came 
into the house by the way of the 
gate whose prospect is toward the 
East. I like this orientation of 
churches now too much neglected. 
The old symbolic usages of the 
church should be perpetuated. This 
turning to the East in prayer was at 
one age the mark of a true believer, 
distinguishing him from those who 

had separated from the church. True, 
some of the old basilicas at Rome 
and elsewhere have their altars at the 
west, but, according to the ritual of 
such churches, the priest turns toward 
the people, thus looking to the East. 
Cassiodorus and others say that our 
Lord on the cross had his face to- 
ward the west. So, in directing our 
thoughts and hearts to Calvary, it is 
almost instinctive to look to the East. 

" With hands outstretched, bleeding and bare. 
He doth in death his innocent head recline, 
Turning to the west. Descending from his 


The sun beheld, and veiled him from the sight. 
Thither, while from the serpent's wound we 


To thee, remembering that baptismal sign,. 
We turn and drink anew thy healing might." 

Let us, then, place, as Wordsworth 

" Like men of elder days, 
Our Christian altar faithful to the east, 
Whence the tall window drinks the morning 

While I was lingering with pecu- 
liar interest before a monument to 
the memory of Cardinal de Cheve- 
rus, the first Bishop of Boston, and 
afterward Archbishop of Bordeaux, 
whose memory is revered in the Old 
World and the N.ew, I heard a chant- 
ing afar off, and, looking around, saw 
through the open door a funeral pro- 
cession coming hastily along the 
street toward the church, and singing 
the Miserere coming, not with 
mournful step and slow, as with us, 
but like the followers of Islam, who 
believe the soul is in torment be- 
tween death and burial, and so lay 
aside their usual dignified deport- 
ment and hurry the body to the grave. 
But in France the funeral cortege 
does not necessarily include the 
relatives, and I felt this very haste 
might be typical of their eagerness to 
commence the Office of the Dead. 
Anyhow, I forgave them when, in the 
chapel draped in black, I saw them 
devoutly betake themselves to prayer 



during the Holy Sacrifice. I, too, 
dropped my little bead of prayer for 
the eternal rest of one whose name 
I know not, but which is known to 

" Help, Lord, the souls which thou hast made, 

The souls to thee so dear ; 
In prison for the debt unpaid, 
Of sins committed here." 

The confessionals seemed to be 
greatly frequented the day I was at 
St. Andre's those sepulchres into 
which rolls the great burden of our 
sins. There 

" The great Absolver with relief 
Stands by the door, and bears the key, 
O'er penitence on bended knee." 

What non-Catholic has not felt, at 
least once in his life, as if he would 
give worlds for the moral courage 
to lay down the burden of memory at 
the feet of some holy man endowed 
with the power of absolving from sin ! 
Almighty God has made his church 
the interpreter between himself and 
his creatures ; hence the peculiar grace 
a holy confessor has to meet the 
wants of the human heart laid bare 
before him. Zoroaster told his disci- 
ples that the wings of the soul, lost by 
sin, might be regained by bedewing 
them with the waters of life found 
in the garden of God. It is only 
the consecrated priest who has the 
power of unsealing this fountain to 
each one of us. These confessionals 
are distributed in the various chapels, 
everywhere meeting the eye of the 
parched and sin-worn traveller who 

" Kneel down, and take the word divine, 

Of course there is a Ladye Chapel 
in this church, as in all others. Je- 
sus and Mary, whose names are ever 
mingled on Catholic lips, the first they 
learn and the last they murmur, are 
never separated in our churches. De- 
votion to the Virgin has grown up 


through the church, beautifying and 
perfuming it like the famous rose- 
bush in the Cathedral of Hildesheim 
in Germany the oldest of all known 
rose-bushes. It takes root under the 
fhoir in the crypt. Its age is un- 
known, but a document proves that 
nearly a thousand years ago Bishop 
Hezilo had it protected by a stone 
roof still to be seen. So with devo- 
tion to our Mystical Rose quasi 
plantatlo rostz in Jericho its roots 
go down deep among the founda- 
tions of the church ; saints have pro- 
tected and nourished it, and all na- 
tions come to sit under its vine and 
inhale its perfume. 

" Blossom for ever, blossoming rod ! 

Thou didst not blossom once to die : 
That life which, issuing forth from God, 
Thy life enkindled, runs not dry. 

" Without a root in sin-stained earth, 

'Twas thine to bud salvation's flower, 
No single soul the church brings forth 
But blooms from thee, and is thy dower." 

What a safeguard to man is devo- 
tion to Mary Most Pure! It is like 
the Pridwin the shield of King Ar- 
thur on which was emblazoned the 
Holy Virgin, warding off the strokes 
of the great enemy of souls. 

There are some poetical associa- 
tions connected with Bordeaux : 
among others, the memory of the 
troubadours who enriched and per- 
fected the Romance tongue, but whose 
songs at last died away in the sad 
discord of the Albigensian wars. 
Here the gay and beautiful Eleanor 
of Aquitaine held her court of love, 
gathering around her all the famous 
troubadours of her time, and decid 
ing upon the merits of their songs. 
Among these was her favorite, Ber- 
nard de Ventadour, chiefly known 
to fame by being mentioned by Pe- 
trarch. Eleanor herself was a musi- 
cian and a lover of poetry tastes 
she inherited from her grandfather, 
William, Duke of Aquitaine, general- 
ly called the Count de Poitiers, one 

1 62 


of the earliest of the troubadours 
whose songs have come down to us. 
Around this charming queen of love 
and song gathered the admiring vo- 
taries of la gaia sciencia, like night- 
ingales singing around the rose, all 
vowing, as in duty bound, that 
their hearts were bleeding on the 
horns ! 

Poor maligned Eleanor was too 
gay a butterfly for the gloomy court 
of Louis VII. She wanted the bright 
sun of her own province in which to 
float, and the incense of admiring 
voices to waft her along. She her- 
self was a composer of chansons, and 
is reckoned among the authors of 
France. She dearly loved Bordeaux, 
her capital, and was adored by its 
people. Here she was married with 
great pomp to Louis, after which the 
Duke of Aquitaine laid aside his in- 
signia of power, and, assuming the 
garb of a hermit, went on a pilgri- 
mage to St. James of Compostella, 
and devoted the remainder of his 
life to prayer and penance in hermi- 
tage on Montserrat, by way of pre- 
paration for death. It is well to 
pause awhile before plunging into 
the great ocean of eternity. 

These pilgrimages to Compostella 
were exceedingly popular in that 
*ge, and hospices for the pilgrims to 
that shrine were to be found in all 
the large cities and towns. There 
was one at Auch, and another at Pa- 
ris in the Rue du Temple, which was 
particularly celebrated and served 
by Augustinian nuns. And here at 
Bordeaux was the Hospice of St. An- 
dr for the reception of the weary 
votary of St. Jago. 

" Here comes a pilgrim," says one 
of Shakespeare's characters. " God 
save you, pilgrim. Where are you 
bound ?" 

" To St. Jacques le Grand. Where 
do the palmers lodge, I beseech 
you ?" 

" Eftsoones unto an holy hospital! 
That was forby the way, she did him bring, 
In which seven bead-men that had vowed all 
Their life to service of high heaven's King, 
Did spend their dales in doing godly thing ; 
Their gates to aH were open evermore. 
That by the wearie way were travelling, 
And one sate wayting ever them before 
To call in comers-by, that needy were and 

Digby says the hospitality and 
charity of these hospices had their 
origin in the bishops' houses. For- 
tunatus thus speaks of Leontius II., 
Archbishop of Bordeaux, who, in ac- 
cordance with the apostle's injunc- 
tion, was given to hospitality : 

"Susceptor peregrum distribuendo cibum. 
Longius extremo si quis properasset ab orbe, 
Advena mox vidit, hunc ait esse patrem." 

That the devotion of the middle 
ages is yet alive in the church is 
proved by the influx of pilgrims at 
the shrine of St. Germaine of Pibrac, 
at Notre Dame de Lourdes, and a 
thousand other places of popular de- 
votion. So great is the number of 
pilgrims to Lourdes, drawn by the 
brightness of Mary's radiant form, 
that the railway between Tarbes and 
Pau was turned from its intended di- 
rect line in order to pass through 
Lourdes. In one day the train from 
Bayonne brought nine hundred, and 
at another time over a thousand pil- 
grims. And as for the continued 
charity and hospitality of the church, 
witness the monks of St. Bernard 
and of Palestine, known to all the 
world. How disinterested is genuine 
Catholic charity, done unto the Lord 
and not unto man ! Some suppose 
the good works practised among us 
is by way of barter for heaven, but 
they little know the spirit of the 
church. Charity is one expression 
of its piety, which, in its highest ma- 
nifestations, is devoid of self-interest. 
Listen to John of Bordeaux, a holy 
Franciscan friar, who, after quoting 
a saying of Epictetus, that we gene- 
rally find piety where there is utility, 



says : " He does not come up to the 
standard of pure Christianity : he 
pretends that piety takes its birth in 
utility, so that it is interest that gives 
rise to devotion. Yes, among the 
profane, but not among Christians, 
who, acquainted with the maxims of 
our holy religion, have no other end 
but to serve God for his love and for 
his glory ; forgetting all considera- 
tions of their own advantage, they 
aspire to attain to that devotion 
which is agreeable to him without 
any view to their own interest." 

And in these practical times an- 
other holy writer, Dr. Newman, says 
in the same spirit : " They who seek 
religion for culture's sake, are aesthe- 
tic, not religious, and will never gain 
that grace which religion adds to 
culture, because they can never have 
the religion. To seek religion for 
the present elevation, or even the so- 
cial improvement it brings, is really 
to fall from faith which rests in God, 
and the knowledge of him as the ul- 
timate good, and has no by-ends to 

But to return to the romantic as- 
sociations of this land of the vine, 
we recall the celebrated old romance 
of Huon of Bordeaux, which con- 
tains some delightful pictures of the 
age of chivalry. Here is one which 
I have abridged, showing how the 
religious spirit was inwoven with the 
impulses of the knightly heart. The 
Emperor Thierry, furious because his 
nephews and followers had been 
slain by Huon, seized upon Esclar- 
monde (Huon's wife) and her atten- 
dants, and threw them into a dun- 
geon, there to await death. Huon, 
greatly afflicted at this, disguised him- 
self as a pilgrim from the Holy Land, 
and set out for Mayence, where the 
emperor lived. He arrived on Maun- 
day-Thursday, and learned that it 
was the custom of the emperor to 
grant the petitions of him who first 

presented himself after the office of 
Good Friday morning. Huon was 
so overjoyed at this information thai 
he could not sleep all that night, but 
betook himself to his orisons, implor- 
fcig God to inspire and aid him so he 
might again behold his wife. When 
morning came, he took his pilgrim 
staff and repaired to the chapel. As 
soon as the office was ended, he con- 
trived to be the first to attract atten- 
tion. He told the emperor he was 
there to avail himself of the custom 
of the day in order to obtain a grace. 
The emperor replied that, should he 
even demand fourteen of his finest 
cities, they would be given him, for 
he would rather have one of his fists 
cut off than recede from his oath; 
therefore to make known his petition, 
which would not be refused. Then 
Huon requested pardon for himself 
and for all of his who might have 
committed some offence. The em- 
peror replied : " Pilgrim, doubt not 
that what I have just promised, I 
will fulfil, but I beg you right hum- 
bly to tell me what manner of man 
you are, and to what country and 
race you belong, that you request 
such grace from me." Huon then 
made himself known. The empe- 
ror's face blanched while listening to 
him, and for a long time he was un- 
able to speak. At last he said : " Are 
you, then, Huon of Bordeaux, from 
whom I have received such ills the 
slayer of my nephews and followers ? 
I cannot cease wondering at your 
boldness in presenting yourself be- 
fore me. I would rather have lost 
four of my best cities, have had my 
whole dominions laid waste and burn- 
ed, and I and my people banished 
for three years, than find you thus 
before me. But since you have thus 
taken me by surprise, know in truth 
that what I have promised and vow 
ed I will hold good, and, in honor 
of the Passion of Jesus Christ, and 



the blessed day which now is, on 
which he was crucified and dead, I 
pardon you all hatred and evil-doing, 
and God forbid that I should hold 
your wife, or lands, or men, which I 
will restore to your hands." Then 
Huon threw himself on his knees, 
beseeching the emperor to forgive 
the injury he had done him. " God 
pardon you," said the emperor. " As 
for me, I forgive you with right good 
will," and taking Huon by the hand, 
he gave him the kiss of peace. Huon 
then said : " May it please our Lord 
Jesus Christ that this guerdon be re- 
turned to you twofold." Then the 
prisoners were released, and, after a 
sumptuous entertainment, the empe- 
ror accompanied Huon and his noble 
lady on their way back to Bordeaux. 
Bordeaux is interesting to the Eng- 
lish race, because, among other rea- 
sons, it was for about three hundred 
years a dependency of the English 
crown, being the dowry of Eleanor of 
Aquitaine, who married Henry II. 
after her divorce from Louis le Jeune. 
We associate the city, too, with Frois- 
sart and the Black Prince, who held 
his court here. Richard II. was born 
hard by at the Chateau de Lormont. 
And Henry III. came here to receive 
his son's bride, Eleanor of Castile, 
and gave her so extravagant a mar- 
riage feast as to excite the remon- 
strances of his nobles. The country 
prospered under the English govern- 
ment. The merchants had especial 
privileges granted them by Eleanor, 
and their wines then, as now, found 
a ready market in London. Bor- 
deaux in particular increased won- 
derfully, and outgrew its defensive 
walls. The church of St. Michel 
dates from the time of English do- 
mination, and in that quarter of the 
city may be seen old houses, one 
story projecting beyond the other, 
and the whole surmounted by a py- 
ramidal roof, said to be of English 

origin, and such as are to be seen in 
some of the oldest streets of Lon- 

Eleanor always used her influence 
for the benefit of her people. The 
most ancient charter of privileges 
granted the Gascon merchants was 
given by her on the first of July, 

The English seem to have taken 
their war-cry from the old dukes of 
Aquitaine who charged to the sound 
of " St. George for the puissant 
duke." A devotion to St. George 
was brought from the East by the 
Crusaders. Richard I. placed him- 
self and his army under the special 
protection of this saint, who, the re- 
doubted slayer of the dragon and 
the redresser of woman's wrongs, ap- 
pealed to the tenderest instincts of 
the chivalric heart. St. George's re- 
mains were brought from Asia by 
the Crusaders, and a large part is 
enshrined at To'ulouse, in the great 
basilica of St. Sernin. The crest of 
the dukes of Aquitaine was a leopard, 
which the kings of England bore for 
a long time on their shields. Edward 
III. is called a valiant pard in his 

These old dukes of Aquitaine 
seem always to have gone to ex- 
tremes either as sinners or saints. 
Eleanor's grandfather, as I have said, 
was one of the earliest of the trouba- 
dours. He was distinguished for his 
bravery, his musical voice, and his 
manly beauty. His early life was 
such as to incur the censure of the 
bishop, but he ended his career in 
penitence, and the last of his poems 
is a farewell d la chevalerie qrfil a 
taut aimte for the sake of the cross. 
He was one of the first to join the 
crusades at the head of sixty thou- 
sand warriors, but he lost his troops 
and gained neither glory nor renown. 

The term Aquitaine was given this 
country by Julius Caesar on account 


i6 5 

of its numerous rivers and ports. 
The ancient province of this name ex- 
tended from the Loire to the Pyrenees. 
In the time of the Roman domin- 
ion, Bordeaux was its capital under the 
name of Burdigala. The origin of the 
city is uncertain. Strabo, who lived 
in the first century, mentions it as 
a celebrated emporium. Some sup- 
pose its first inhabitants to have been 
of Iberian origin. The real history 
of the city commences about the 
middle of the third century, when Te- 
tricus, governor of Aquitaine, assum- 
ed the purple and was proclaimed 
emperor. About the same time St. 
Martial preached in this region. But 
the pagan divinities were still invok- 
ed in the time of Ausonius. In the 
annals of the Council of Aries, in 314, 
Orientalis, Bishop of Bordeaux, is 

The intellectual superiority of the 
Romans was always even more po- 
tent than the force of their arms. 
Barbarism disappeared before the 
splendor of their civilization. Burdi- 
gala under their dominion felt the in- 
fluence of this superiority, and rose 
to such a degree of magnificence and 
luxury as to be a theme for Ausonius, 
St. Jerome, and Sidonius Apollinaris. 
The remains of buildings at Bordeaux 
belonging to this epoch give an idea 
of its prosperity and importance. 
There is still an arena in ruins, com- 
monly called the Palais-Gallien, but 
the most remarkable Roman monu- 
ment of the city was a temple called 
Fillers de Tutelle, which, partly ruined, 
was demolished in 1677, by the or- 
der of Louis XIV., for the construc- 
tion of a quay. Schools were establish- 
ed at Bordeaux at an early day. We 
learn from St. Jerome that in his time 
the liberal arts were in the most flour- 
ishing condition here. In the time 
of the Roman dominion, there were 
universities at Bordeaux, Auch, Tou- 
louse, Marseilles, Treves, etc. The 

edicts issued for their benefit show- 
ed the importance attached to their 
prosperity by the government. The 
college of Bordeaux furnished pro- 
fessors for Rome and Constantino- 
ple. Valentinian I. chose Ausonius, 
a native of Bordeaux, to superintend 
the education of his son Gratian. 
When the latter became emperor, he 
made his old tutor a Roman consul 
(A.D. 379). The poems of Ausonius 
are still admired, but there is much 
in them that is reprehensible. They 
were translated into French by M. 
Jaubert, a priest at Bordeaux, who 
lived in the last century. 

That the wines of Aquitaine were 
already celebrated in the fourth cen- 
tury is shown by the writings of Au- 

" Ostrea . 
Non laudata minus, nostii quam gloria vini." 

St. Paulinus, bishop of Nola, lived 
at this time. He was born at Bordeaux 
in the year 353, and was descended 
from a long line of illustrious sena- 
tors. One of the several estates he 
owned near the city still bears .the 
name of Le Puy Paulin, puy being a 
word from the langue Romaine, per- 
haps synonymous with the Latin 
word podium. One of the public 
squares of Bordeaux also bears the 
same name. Paulinus possessed great 
elevation of mind and a poetical ge- 
nius, which he cultivated under Auso- 
nius, for whose care he expresses his 
gratitude in verse. But Ausonius 
was magnanimous enough to acknow- 
ledge that Paulinus excelled him as 
a poet and that no modern Roman 
could vie with him. 

In his early life Paulinus held dig- 
nified offices under government, but 
his intercourse with St. Delphinus, 
bishop of Bordeaux, inspired him 
with a love for retirement, in which 
his wife, a Spanish lady of wealth, 
participated. They passed over into 

1 66 


Spain, and spent four years there in 
the retirement of the country, but 
not as anchorites. He seemed to 
have given up all of life but its sweet- 
ness when he composed the follow- 
ing prayer : " O Supreme Master of 
all things, grant my wishes, if they 
are righteous. Let none of my days 
be sad, and no anxiety trouble the 
repose of my nights. Let the good 
things of another never tempt me, 
and may my own suffice to those 
who ask my aid. Let joy dwell in 
my house. Let the slave born on 
my hearth enjoy the abundance of 
my stores. May I live surrounded 
by faithful servants, a cherished wife, 
and the children she will bring me." 
While in Spain they lost their only 
son, whom they buried at Alcala, 
near the bodies of the holy martyrs 
Justus and Pastor. This loss wean- 
ed them completely from the world. 
Their Spanish solitude had been a 
garden of roses, but now they chose 
the lily as their emblem, and resolv- 
ed to lead a monastic life. Paulinus 
received holy orders, and they both 
sold all they possessed and gave the 
money to the poor. This drew upon 
Paulinus the contempt of the world. 
Even his own relatives and former 
slaves rose up against him, but to all 
their invectives he only replied : " O 
beata injuria displicere cum Christo." 
" O blessed scorn that is shared with 
Christ." Ausonius, in particular, was 
grieved to see the extensive patrimo- 
ny of Paulinus cut up among a hun- 
dred possessors, and reproached him 
in bitter terms for his madness. But 
if the world rejected him, he was re- 
ceived with open arms by such men 
as St. Ambrose, St. Jerome, and St. 
Augustine. His devotion to St. Fe- 
lix, whose tomb he had visited in his 
childhood, induced him to fix his re- 
sidence near Nola in Campania. 
Here he lived close by the church 
where his favorite naint was enshrin- 

ed. He had put on the livery of 
Christ's poor ones, and contented 
himself with his cell and garden-plot. 
And his meekness and sanctity, join- 
ed to his talents as a writer, drew 
upon him the admiration of the 
world. Persons of the highest rank 
from all parts went to see him in his 
retreat, as St. Jerome and St. Augus- 
tine testify. In his seclusion he writes 
poems that have all the delicacy and 
grace of Petrarch. He describes the 
church of his loved saint, whose life 
and miracles he is never weary of 
dwelling on, as hung with white dra- 
peries and gleaming with aromatic 
lamps and tapers ; the porch is wreath- 
ed with fresh flowers, and the clois- 
ters strewn with blossoms; and pil- 
grims come down from the moun- 
tains, marching even at night by the 
light of their torches, bringing their 
children in sacks, and their sick on 
litters, to be healed at the tomb ; for 
all the world, a picture of an Italian 
shrine of these days. 

He loved the humblest duties of 
the sanctuary. " Suffer me to remain 
at thy gates," he says. " Let me 
cleanse thy courts every morning, 
and watch every night for their pro- 
tection. Suffer me to end my days 
amid the employments I love. We 
take refuge within your hallowed pale 
and make our nest in your bosom. 
It is herein that we are cherished, 
and expand into a better life. Cast- 
ing off the earthly burden, we feel 
something divine springing up with- 
in us, and the unfolding of the wings 
which are to make us equal to the 
angels." These words sound as if 
coming from the cloistered votary of 
the middle ages, or even of the nine- 
teenth century ; the same is the spi- 
rit of the church in all ages. 

The writings of St. Paulinus show 
his devotion to the saints and theii 
relics, a belief in the efficacy of 
prayers for the dead, and in the doc 



trine of the Real Presence. What 
can be more explicit, for instance, 
than these lines on the Holy Eucha- 
rist ? 

" In cruce fixa caro est, quS pascor ; de cruce 

Ille fluit, vitam quo bibo, corUa lavo." 

He adorned the walls of his church 
with paintings and composed inscrip- 
tions for the altar, under which were 
deposited the relics of St. Andrew, 
St. Luke, St. Nazarius, and others, 
and sings thus : 

' In regal shrines with purple marble graced, 
Their bones are 'neath illumined altars placed. 
This pious band's contained in one small chest 
That holds such mighty names within its tiny 

After fifteen years of retirement, 
St. Paulinus was made bishop of No- 
la. Shortly before he died, as the 
lamps were being lighted for the Ves- 
per service, he murmured, 

" I have trimmed my lamp for Christ." 

The prosperity of Bordeaux under 
the Romans was interrupted by the 
invasion of the barbarians that swept 
down from the north, bringing ruin 
and desolation to the land. For 
nearly a century the city remained 
in the power of the Visigoths, who, 
being Arians, persecuted the Catho- 
lic inhabitants. Sidonius Apollinaris 
deplores the injury done to learning 
by their invasion, but perhaps the 
decline of learning was partly owing 
to a growing distaste for pagan lite- 
rature among Christians. The bar- 
barians were finally routed by Clovis 
in 507, and he took possession of 
Bordeaux. Charlemagne made Aqui- 
taine a kingdom for his son Louis le 
Debonnaire. Louis, son of Charles 
le Chauve. was the last king of Aqui- 
taine. When he ascended the throne 
of France, it resumed its former rank 
as a duchy. 

The college of Guienne was found- 
ed here in the middle ages. In 
the sixteenth century, it had, at one 
time, twenty-five hundred pupils. 
The famous George Buchanan, whom 
\verybody knows, because his head 
adorns the cover of Black-woods 
Magazine, but who is more spoken 
of than read, taught in this college 
three years. He came here in 1539. 
Among his pupils was the great Mon- 
taigne, who passed most of his life at 
Bordeaux and is buried in the church 
of the Feuillants. As Buchanan was 
somewhat given to hilarity and lov- 
ed the flavor of Gascon wines, this 
city probably had its attractions for 
him. In his Maitz Calendcz, full of 
gaiety and merry-making, he speaks 
of the grapes of the sandy soil of 

1 Nee tenebris claudat generosum cella Lyseum, 
Quern dat arenoso Vasconis uva solo." 

One vintage season, Buchanan 
went to Agen to enjoy it at the resi- 
dence of his friend, the celebrated 
Julius Scaliger, who had been a pro- 
fessor at the college of Guienne, but 
was now settled as a physician at 

Among the other literary celebri- 
ties of Bordeaux is Arnaud Berquin, 
whose charming writings are still 
popular. His Ami des Enfants was 
crowned by the French Academy in 
1784. And Montesquieu was born 
at the chateau of La Brede near Bor- 
deaux, whence he took his title of 
Baron de la Brede. 

Bordeaux is now the finest city in 
France after Paris, and it ranks next 
to Lyons in importance. Perhaps 
I cannot do better than quote what a 
popular French author of the day 
says of it : 

" Bordeaux is five miles long and has 
one hundred and fifty thousand inhabi 

1 68 

The " Amen " of the Stones. 

tants : plenty of room for few people. 
But the entire population does not 
breathe at its case. If the grass be grow- 
ing in the streets and squares of the new 
town, there is some stifling felt in the 
old districts. The Jews, chapmen, brok- 
ers, and marine store men live in a dirty 
and unhealthy hive, and their shops form 
no straight line along the narrow and un- 
paved streets. You may still see a quan- 
tity of those paunchy, hunchbacked, and 
decrepit houses, which form the delight of 
romantic archseology, and you need only 
go to Bordeaux to form an accurate idea 
of old Paris. In the new town all is 
vast, rectilinear, and monumental : the 
streets, squares, avenues, esplanades and 
buildings rival the splendor of what we 
are taught to admire in Paris. The 
Grand Theatre, containing only twelve 
hundred persons, has the impos ingas- 
pect of a Colosseum and a staircase 
which might be transferred with advan- 
tage to our Opera. The cafes are truly 
monuments, and I saw a bathing estab- 
lishment which bore a strong resemblance 
to a necropolis. All this grandeur dates 
from Louis XV. and Louis XVI. The 
population of Bordeaux is one of the 
prettiest specimens of the French nation. 
The women possess more expression 
than freshness, but with good hair, good 
eyes, and white teeth, a woman cannot 
but look well. The men have a sharp 

look, a lively mind, and brilliancy of lan- 

One of the glories of Bordeaux is 
the bridge across the Garonne built 
by order of Napoleon the Great. It 
has seventeen arches, and there is an 
interior gallery communicating from 
one arch to another which is acces- 

There are some fine pictures in the 
Musee des Tableaux a Perugino, 
and others by Titian, Vandyke, Ru- 
bens, etc. Some excellent artists have 
been formed in the School of Design, 
among whom is Rosa Bonheur. But 
the people in general are more fond 
of music and the drama than the 
other fine arts. 

The commerce of Bordeaux is ex- 
tensive, but is surpassed by that of 
Havre, perhaps because there is too 
much of the laisser-aller in a more 
southern temperament. Neverthe- 
less, the city is progressing. The 
port, says the author already quoted, 
is a third edition of the Thames at 
London and the Golden Horn at 



BLIND with old age, went Beda forth to preach 
The blessed Gospel to the world, and teach 
The listening crowd of village and of town. 
A peasant school-boy led him up and down, 
Proclaiming aye God's word with youthful fire. 

Rather in childish folly than in scorn, 
The lad the trusting graybeard led, one morn, 
Down to a vale where massive stones around 
Were strewed. " A congregation fills the ground," 
He said, " and, lo, they wait to hear thee, sire." 

Up rose the aged pilgrim, took the text, 
Turned it, explained it, and applied it next, 

The House of Yorke. 


Implored, exhorted, prayed, and, ending, bowed his head, 
And to the listening crowd the Pater Noster said. 

When he had ended, from the circling stones 
The cry went forth, as if in human tones, 
" Amen, most reverend father !" and again 
The circling stones in concert cried, " Amen !" 

The boy shrank back, remorseful, on his knees, 
Confessed his fault, and sought to make his peace. 
" Mock not God's word," the old man to him said. 
" Know that, though men were mute to it, and dead. 
The very stones will witness. 'Tis a living word, 
And cutteth sharply, like a two-edged sword. 
And if all human hearts to stones should turn, 
A human heart within these stones would burn." 



THE early morning of Mr. Row- 
an's burial had been heavy and 
dark ; but as they left the island a 
shower of golden light broke through 
the clouds, the water sparkled on all 
sides, and the sighing air became a 
frolic breeze. Dick and the captain 
brightened, and exchanged a few 
words in seamen's phrase compli- 
menting the weather. Mrs. Rowan 
also roused herself, brushed the sand 
from her clothes, arranged the folds 
of her veil, and even smoothed her 
hair. The poor creature's vanity 
was dead, but at the prospect of 
meeting strangers it gave a slight 
post-mortem flicker. Out it went, 
though, the next instant, on the 
breath of a sigh. What did it matter 
how she looked ? But she glanced 
anxiously at Edith. 

The child had put on her mother's 
red cape and drawn it up over her 
head, and she still held it there, one 
slim hand pulling the folds close to- 
gether under her chin. That she 
might appear outlandish did not 

trouble Edith. Indeed, she claimed 
the right to be so on account of her 
foreign blood. But when she noticed 
Mrs. Rowan's attention to her own 
toilet, and met her glance, she 
pushed the cape off her head, and, 
putting her arms up, began to 
smooth her hair and plait it into 
a long braid. It was rich, long hair, 
not given to wilful ringlets, but 
would curl when in the mood. Now 
the wind blew little curls out about 
her face, and the risen sun steeped 
the tresses in a pale flame. 

The braid finished, she tossed it 
back, and caught it lightly into a 
loop, the motion revealing a pair of 
round white arms, to which the 
hands and wrists looked like colored 
gauntlets. Then she unfolded her 
precious Indian relic of tarnished red 
and gold, and bound it straightly 
about her head, half-covering the 
forehead, so that the long, fringed 
ends hung behind, and a loose fold 
fell over each ear. 

Beholding her in that guise, Cap- 


The House of Yorke. 

tain Gary thought that she looked 
fitter for some oriental scene than for 
this crude corner of a crude land. 
" She might be a stolen child stained 
with gypsy-wort," he said to him- 

But she was Gypsy only in color. 
No wild fires burned in her face; 
her cool eyes looked out calm and 
observant; her mouth was gently 
closed. The very shape of her fea- 
tures expressed tranquillity. 

The sailor found himself much in- 
terested in this little girl. Besides 
that her appearance pleased him, 
his good-will had been bespoken; 
for on one of those days when their 
ship had lain becalmed in southern 
waters, Dick had told him all her 
story. Listening to it, half-asleep, as 
to something that might be fact and 
might be fancy, all the scene about 
him had entwined itself with the his- 
tory and with the heroine's charac- 
ter. The solid golden day, shut 
down over a sea whose soft pulses 
told of perfect repose; the wide-eyed, 
radiant night, which seemed every 
moment on the point of breaking 
into music far and near, a fine, clear 
music of countless sweet bells with 
almost human tongues they formed 
the background on which her image 
floated. Seeing her did not dispel 
but rather strengthened the illusion. 
Something golden in her hair, some- 
thing tranquil in her face, some- 
thing expectant in her eyes all 
were like. 

The rough giant of a sailor mused 
tenderly over this as he sent their 
boat forward with powerful strokes, 
and watched Edith Yorke bind on 
her Egyptian coiffure. 

They did not row to the wharf, 
where the steamer had already ar- 
rived, but to a place a few rods 
above, where the sea had taken a 
good semicircular bite out of the 
land Here a straggling bit of di- 

lapidated woods had been allowed 
to remain by the vandals who had 
turned all the rest to grass and pas- 
ture, and a mossy ledge broke the 
teeth of the soft, gnawing waves. 

Edith stepped lightly on shore. 
She was young, healthy, brave, and 
ignorant, and pain, though it called 
forth her tears, was stimulating to 
her. That pang had not yet come 
which could cut her heart in twain 
and let all the courage out. 

" You are spry," Captain Gary 
said, smiling down upon her. 

She smiled faintly in return, but 
said nothing. 

Mrs. Rowan needed assistance at 
either hand. She had been broken 
by pain. 

They stood awhile in the grove, 
Dick and the captain making some 
business arrangements. The Hal- 
cyon was to remain four weeks at 
Seaton, and it was agreed that Dick 
should have that time to get his 
mother settled. Then the ship would 
touch at New York, where he would 
embark for the East again. 

While they lingered, a large yel- 
low coach, loaded with passengers, 
rattled past amid clouds of dust. 

"There is no hurry," Dick said. 
" It will take an hour to get the 
freight off and on. But you needn't 
wait, captain. They'll be looking 
for you at the village." 

The others drew near to Captain 
Gary at that, holding his hands and 
trying to utter their thanks. 

" Oh ! it's nothing," he said, much 
abashed. " I haven't done anything 
to be thanked for. Good-by ! Keep 
up your courage, and you will come 
out first-rate. There's nothing like 

A subsiding ripple tossed his boat 
against the shore. At that hint he 
stepped in, dallied with the rope ; 
then said, with a perfectly transpa- 
rent affectation of having only jusl 

The House of Yorke. 


thought of it : " Oh ! I've got a ring 
here that Edith is welcome to, if she 
will wear it. I brought it home for 
my niece; but the child is dead. It 
won't fit anybody else I know." 

Mrs. Rowan immediately thanked 
him, and Edith smiled with childish 
pleasure. " You are very kind, Cap- 
tain Gary," she said. " I always 
thought I would like to have a 

Dick alone darkened; but no one 
noticed it. He had meant to do 
everything for her ; and here was a 
wish which she had never expressed 
to him, and he had not known 
enough to anticipate. 

The captain drew a tiny box from 
his pocket, and displayed a small 
circlet in which was set a single 
spark of diamond. Edith extended 
her left hand, and the sailor, leaning 
over the boatside, slipped the ring 
on to her forefinger. 

" Good-by, again !" he said then 
hastily, and gave each of them a 
grasp of the hand. Dick could take 
care of himself; but the other two, 
putting out their tender hands im- 
pulsively, grew red in the face with 
pain at the grip of his iron fingers. 
The next instant his boat shot out 
into the bay. They looked after him 
till he glanced back and saluted them 
with a nod, and two arches of spray 
tossed from his oars; then turned 
and climbed the shore, Dick assist- 
ing his mother, Edith following. 

" Good-by, trees!" said the child, 
glancing up. " Good-by, moss !" 
stooping to gather a silken green 
flake and a cluster of red-topped 
gray. The prettiest cup had a spider 
in it, and she would not disturb it. 
" Good-by, spider !" she whispered, 
" I'm never coming back again." 

She had friends to take leave of, 
after all not human friends, but 
God's little creatures, who had never 
hurt her save in self-defence. 

When they reached the wharf, there 
was no one in sight but the men who 
trundled the freight off and on. At 
the upper end of the wharf there was 
^. small building used as office and 
waiting-room. The passage to the 
boat being%bstructed, Dick sent his 
mother and Edith there, while he 
went on board to get tickets. They 
went to the door of the waiting-room, 
hesitated a moment on seeing it 
occupied, then went in, and seated 
themselves in a retired corner. 

The party who were already in 
possession glanced at the new- 
comers, and immediately became 
oblivious of them. This party were 
evidently the members of one family. 
Some indefinable resemblance, as 
well as their air of intimacy, showed 
that. An elderly gentleman walked 
up and down the floor, his hands 
clasped behind his back, and a lady 
not much over forty sat near, sur- 
rounded by her three daughters. At 
a window, to which the mother's 
back was turned, looking up toward 
the village, stood a young man 
whose age could not be over twenty- 
three. The ages of the daughters 
might vary from sixteen to twenty. 
They formed rather a remarkable 
group, and were attractive, though 
the faces of all expressed more or 
less dissatisfaction. That of the 
young man indicated profound dis- 
gust. The elder lady had a sweet 
and melancholy expression, and ap- 
peared like an invalid. The young- 
est daughter, who sat beside her, was 
as like her mother as the waxing 
moon is like the waning. She was 
pretty, had clinging, caressing ways, 
a faint dimple in her left cheek, 
splendid auburn hair, and gray eyes. 
They called her Hester. On the 
other hand sat the eldest daughter, a 
rather stately, self-satisfied young 
woman, whose attentions to her 
mother had an air of patronage. 

The House of Yorke. 

This was Melicent. She was rather 
fair, neutral in color, and excessively 
near-sighted. The second daughter 
stood behind her mother, and was 
very attentive to her, but in an ab- 
sent way, often doing more harm 
than good by her assistaifce. " My 
dear Clara, you are bundling the 
shawl all about my neck ! My love, 
you pull my bonnet off in arranging 
my veil ! Why, Clara, what are you 
doing to my scarf?" Such remarks 
as these were constantly being ad- 
dressed to her. Clara was a dark 
brunette, with small features, a su- 
perb but not tall figure, and large 
gray eyes that looked black. Her 
coal-black hair grew rather low on 
the forehead, straight black brows 
overshadowed her eyes and nearly 
met over the nose, and an exquisitely 
delicate mouth gave softness to this 
face which would otherwise have 
been severe. She seemed to be a 
girl of immense but undisciplined 
energy, and full of enthusiasm. 

The gentleman who paced the 
floor was slightly under-sized and 
thin in figure, thin in face, too, dark, 
and sallow. The very look of him 
suggested bile and sarcasm. But 
let him speak for himself, since he is 
just now on this subject. " Bile, my 
dear," he said to his wife " bile 
came into the world with original 
sin. I am not sure that bile is not 
sin. It is Marah in a pleasant land. 
It is a fountain of gall in the garden 
of paradise. It poisons life. Doc- 
tors know nothing whatever about 
bile, and liver-medicines are a super- 
stition. He who shall discover a 
way to eradicate bile from the sys- 
tem will be a great moral reformer. 
Every sin I ever committed in my 
life took its rise in my liver. I be- 
lieve the liver to be an interpolation 
in the original man. We should be 
better without it." 

The gentleman who spoke had a 

wide, thin mouth, very much drawn 
down at the corners and nowise 
hidden, the gray moustache he 
spared in shaving being curled up 
at the ends. His manner was that 
of a person who would scarcely 
brook contradiction. His speech 
was clear and emphatic, and he pro- 
nounced his words as if he knew 
how they were spelt. A long, deli- 
cate aquiline nose had a good deal 
to do with his profile, as had also a 
pair of overhanging eyebrows. From 
beneath these brows looked forth a 
pair of keen gray eyes, with count- 
less complex wrinkles about them. 
The chin was handsome, well- 
rounded, and, fortunately, not pro- 
jecting. A projecting chin with an 
aquiline nose is one of the greatest 
of facial misfortunes. Caricature can 
do no more. The forehead was in- 
tellectual, and weighty enough to 
make it no wonder if the slight frame 
grew nervous and irritable in carry- 
ing out the behests of the brain hid- 
den there. The head was crowned 
by a not inartistic confusion of gray 
hair which seemed to have been 
stirred by electricity. 

" I am sorry, madam, that I can- 
not compliment the climate of your 
native state," he remarked after a 
pause. " The spring is a month or 
six weeks behind that of Massachu- 
setts, and the fall as much earlier. 
The travelling here is simply intol- 
erable. It is either clouds of dust, 
bogs of mud, or drifts of snow. I 
quite agree with the person who said 
that Maine is a good state to come 

"We all know, Charles, that the 
climate of Massachusetts, and par- 
ticularly of Boston, surpasses that of 
any other part of the world," the 
lady replied with great composure. 

The gentleman winced very slight- 
ly. He was one of those who con- 
stantly make sarcastic observations 

The House of Yorke. 


to others, but are peculiarly sensitive 
when such are addressed to them- 
selves. In his society, one was fre- 
quently reminded of the little boy's 
complaint : " Mother, make Tommy 
be still. He keeps crying every 
time I strike him on the head with 
the hammer." 

" Here will be a chance to prac- 
tise your famous English walks, Meli- 
cent," the father said. " I presume 
the old chaise is dissolved. I re- 
member it twenty years ago nodding 
along the road in the most polite 
manner. By the way, Amy, did you 
ever observe that in genuine country 
places people leave their defunct ve- 
hicles to decay by the roadside ? I 
am not sure that there is no poetry 
in the custom. The weary wheels 
crumble to dust in view of the track 
over which they have rolled in life, 
and are a memento mori to living car- 
riages.. It is not unlike the monu- 
ment of Themistocles ' on the watery 
strand.' " 

" Papa," exclaimed Hester, " why 
didn't you say tired wheels? You 
started to." 

" Because I detest a pun." 
" Melicent, who had been waiting 
for a chance, now spoke. "You 
don't mean to say, papa, that we 
shall have no carriage ?" 

A shrug of the shoulders was the 
only reply. 

The young woman's face wore a 
look of dismay. " But, papa !" she 

" Wait till the pumpkins grow," he 
said with a mocking smile. " I will 
give you the largest one, and your 
mother will furnish the mice. I don't 
doubt there are mice, and to spare." 

"You don't mean that we must 
walk everywhere?" his daughter 

" Dear me, Melicent, how persis- 
tent you are !" interrupted Clara im- 
patiently. " One would think there 

was no need of borrowing trou 

The elder sister gazed with an air 
of superiority at the younger. " I 
was speaking to papa," she remarked 
with dignity. 

The father frowned, the mother 
raised a deprecating hand, and the 
imminent retort was hushed. Clara 
went to her brother, and, leaning on 
his arm, whispered that, if Mel were 
not her own sister, she should really 
get to dislike her. 

" How silent you are, Owen," said 
Hester, looking around at him. " All 
you have done to entertain us so far 
has been to make faces when you 
were sick. To be sure, that made us 

"A sea-sick person may be the 
cause of wit in others, but is seldom 
himself witty," was the laconic reply. 

The speaker was a slim, elegant 
youth, with golden tints in his light 
hair, with rather drooping and very 
bright blue eyes, and a beautiful, sen- 
suous mouth. 

Edith Yorke watched this party 
with interest, and the longer she 
looked at the elder gentleman the 
better she liked him. His manner 
of addressing the ladies suited her 
inborn sense of what a gentleman's 
manner should be. There was no 
contemptuous waiting before answer- 
ing them, no flinging the reply over 
his shoulder, nor growling it out like 
a bear. Besides, she half-believed 
only half, for her eyes were heavy 
with weeping and loss of sleep that 
he had looked kindly at her. Once 
she was sure that he spoke of her to 
his wife, but she did not know what 
he said. It was this : " My dear, do 
you observe that child ? She has an 
uncommon face." 

The lady glanced across the room 
and nodded. She was too much pre- 
occupied to think of anything but 
their own affairs. But her husband, 


The House of Yorke. 

on whom these affairs had the con- 
trary effect of driving him to seek 
distraction, approached Edith. 

" Little girl," he said, " you remind 
me so much of some one I have seen 
that I would like to know your name, 
if you please to tell it." 

" My name is Edith Eugenie 
Yorke," she replied, with perfect 

He had bent slightly toward her 
in speaking, but at sound of the 
name he stood suddenly upright, 
his sallow face turned very red, and 
he looked at her with a gaze so 
piercing that she shrank from it. 
"Who were your father and mo- 
ther ?" he demanded. 

" My mother was Eugenie Lubor- 
mirski, a Polish exile, and my father 
was Mr. Robert Yorke, of Boston," 
said Edith. Her eyes were fixed in- 
tently on the gentleman's face, and 
her heart began to beat quickly. 

He turned away from her and re- 
sumed his walk, but, after a minute, 
came back again. " Your father and 
mother are both dead ?" he asked in 
a gentler tone. 

" Yes, sir." 

"You have no brothers nor sis- 
ters ?" 

" No, sir." 

" Who takes care of you ?" 

" Mrs. Jane Rowan," Edith re- 
plied, laying her hand on the widow's 

He bowed, taking this for an in- 
troduction, a cold but courteous 

" May I ask, madam," he inquir- 
ed, "what claim you have on this 
child ?" 

Mrs. Rowan had shown some agi- 
tation while this conversation was 
going on, and when Edith put out 
her hand, she grasped it as if mean- 
ing to hold on to the child. Her 
reply was made in a somewhat de- 
fiant tone. "When Mrs. Robert 

Yorke died, she asked me to have 
pity on her daughter, and keep her 
out of the poor-house. I have taken 
care of her ever since. The Yorkes 
had turned them off." 

The gentleman drew himself up r 
and put out his under lip. " Thank 
you for the information," he said 
bitterly. Then to Edith, " Come, 
child," and took her hand. 

She allowed him to lead her across 
the room to his wife. 

" Mrs. Yorke," he said, " this is my 
brother Robert's orphan child !" 

There was a slight sensation and a 
momentary pause; but the lady re- 
covered immediately. " I am glad 
to see you, dear," she said in a kind 
voice. " Who is that person ?" she 
added to her husband, glancing at 
Mrs. Rowan. 

The widow was staring at them 
angrily, and seemed on the pcftnt 
of coming to take Edith away by 

" One who has taken care of the 
child since her mother's death, Amy," 
he answered. " She has no claim on 
my niece, and will, of course, give 
her up to us. The little girl is named 
for my mother. Robert was always 
fond of mother." 

There was a pause of embarrassed 

" You must perceive that there is 
no other way," Mr. Yorke continued 
with some state. " Aside from natu- 
ral affection and pity for the child's 
friendless condition, an Edith Yorke 
must not be allowed to go about the 
country like a Gypsy with a shawl 
over her head." 

" It is just as papa says," Meli- 
cent interposed, and immediately 
took Edith by the hand and kissed 
her cheek. " You are my little cou- 
sin, and you will go home and live 
with us," she said sweetly. 

Miss Yorke's manner was very con- 
ciliating; but her suavity proceeded 

The House of Yorke. 


less from real sweetness than from self- 
complacency. She prided herself on 
knowing and always doing what was 
comme il faut, and took great pleasure 
in being the mould of form. 

" I shall go with Dick ! I am go- 
ing to live with Dick !" Edith cried, 
natching her hand away. A blush 
>f alarm overspread her face, and 
she looked round in search of her 
protector. At that moment he ap- 
peared in the door, paused in sur- 
prise at seeing where Edith was, then 
went to his mother. 

" The Yorkes have got her," Mrs. 
Rowan said to him, breathless with 
excitement. "-That is Mr. Charles 
Yorke. I knew him the moment I 
set eyes on him." 

Dick wheeled about and faced 
them. Edith, too proud to run 
away, looked at him imploringly. 

Then Miss Melicent Yorke arose, 
like the goddess of peace, adjusted 
her most impregnable smile, and 
sailed across the room. " I am 
Miss Yorke," she said brightly, as 
though such an announcement would 
be sure to delight them. " Of 
course, the dear little Edith is my 
cousin. Is it not the strangest thing 
in the world that we should have met 
in such a way ? I am sure we shall 
all feel deeply indebted to you for 
having protected the child while we 
knew nothing of her necessities. Of 
course, we should have sent for 
her directly if we had known. But, 
as it is,*we have the pleasure of meet- 
ing you." 

Pausing, Miss Yorke looked at the 
two as if they were the dearest friends 
she had on earth and it gave her heart- 
felt joy to behold their countenances. 

Dick choked with the words he 
would have uttered. He felt keenly 
the insolence of her perfectly confi- 
dent and smiling address, yet knew 
not how to defend himself. If a man 
had been in her place, he could have 

met his airy assumption with a suffi- 
ciently blunt rebuff; but the young 
sailor was chivalric, and could not 
look a woman in the face and utter 
rude words. His mother's emotion 
did not prevent her replying, and, 
fortunately, to the point. 

" Do you mean to say," Mrs. Row- 
nan exclaimed, "that you are going 
to take Edith away from us without 
leave or license, after we have sup- 
ported her four years without your 
troubling yourselves whether she 
starved in the street or not ?" 

For a moment, Miss Yorke's social 
poniard wavered before this broad 
thrust, but only for a moment. 
" Every family has its own private 
affairs, which no one else has either 
the power or the right to decide 
upon," she said smilingly. "All I 
need say of ours is that, if Mr. Yorke, 
my father, had known that his brother 
left a child unprovided for, he would 
have adopted her without delay. He 
did not know it till this minute, and 
his first thought is that there is only 
one proper course for him. His niece 
must be under his 'care, as her natural 
protector, and must have the advan- 
tages of education and society to 
which she is entitled. I am sure 
you would both be friendly enough 
to her to wish her to occupy her 
rightful position. As for any ex- 
pense you may have gone to on 
her account, papa " 

" Stop there, madam !" Dick inter- 
rupted haughtily. " We will say no 
more about that, if you please. As 
to Edith's going with you, she shall 
choose for herself. I don't deny that 
it seems to be the proper thing ; but 
allow me to say that it was my inten- 
tion to give her a good home and a 
good education, such as no girl need 
be ashamed of. I will speak to Edith, 
and see what she thinks about it." 

He turned unceremoniously away 
from Miss Yorke's protestations, and 

The House of Yorke. 

went to the door, beckoning Edith to 
follow him. As he looked back, wait- 
ing for her, he saw that the whole 
family had gone over in a body to 
talk to his mother. 

Edith clasped the hand he held 
out to her, and looked up into his 
face with large tears flashing in her 

"I wouldn't leave you if they 
would give me all the world!" she 

He smiled involuntarily, but would 
not take advantage of her affection- 
ate impulse. He saw clearly that 
her true place was with her relatives. 
They could do for her at once what 
he could do only after years of weary 
labor. Perhaps they could do at once 
what he could never do. But it was 
hard to give her up. Down in the 
bottom of his heart was a thought 
which he had never fully acknow- 
ledged the presence of, but of which 
he was always conscious: he had 
meant to bring the child up to be 
his wife some day, if she should be 
willing ; to load her with benefits ; to 
be the one to whom she should owe 
everything. But with the pang it 
cost him to put this hope in peril 
came the glimpse of a possibility how 
far more triumphant ! Following his 
own plan, he should be hedging her 
in ; giving her up now would be mak- 
ing her free choice, if it should fall on 
him, an infinitely greater boon. Be- 
sides, and above all, it was right that 
she should go. 

Dick leaned back against the wall 
of the building, and folded his arms 
while he talked to her. At first Edith 
broke into reproaches when she learn- 
ed that he meant to give her up, but 
immediately an instinct of feminine 
pride and delicacy checked the words 
upon her lips. It was impossible for 
her to press her society on one who 
voluntarily relinquished it. She lis- 
tened to her sentence in silence. 

" So you see, Edith," he conclud- 
ed, " we must make up our minds to 

She perceived no such necessity, 
but did not tell him so. "Then I 
shall never see you any more !" she 
said in a whisper, without looking 

Dick's eyes sparkled with resolu- 
tion through the tears that filled them. 
" Yes, you will !" he exclaimed. " I 
mean to do the best I can for 
mother and myself, and you shall not 
be ashamed of us. And however 
high they may set you, Edith, I'll 
climb ! I'll climb ! I won't be so 
far off but I can reach you!" 

The coach had taken its first load 
of passengers to the village, and now 
came down to bring those who were to 
take the steamer and carry the Yorkes 
back. It was time to go on board. 
Dick stepped to the door of the wait- 
ing-room. "Come, mother!" he 
said. " Edith and I will see you to 
your state-room, and then I will bring 
her back. She is to go with her un- 

He was not surprised to see that 
his mother had been completely talk- 
ed over by Edith's relations, and 
that, though tearful, no opposition was 
to be expected from her. They seem- 
ed to be the best of friends ; and 
when the widow rose to take leave 
of them, Mr. Yorke himself escort- 
ed her to the boat. In fact, it was 
all very comfortably settled, as Miss 
Yorke observed to her mother when 
they had taken their seats in the 

When Edith and Dick appeared 
again, hand in hand, Mr. Yorke stood 
at the coach-door, waiting to assist 
his niece to her place. 

" How picturesque !" Clara Yorke 
exclaimed, as the two stepped over 
the planks and came toward them. 
" It is like something out of the Ara- 
bian Nights. He is Sindbad, and she 

The House o/ Yorke. 


is one of those princesses who were 
always getting into such ridiculous 
situations and difficulties. The child 
is absurd, of course, but she is love- 
ly ; and the young man is really very 
fine of his kind." 

Sindbad and his princess were both 
very pale. "Sir," the sailor said, 
presenting the child to her uncle, " I 
hope she will be as happy with you 
as I and my mother would have tried 
to make her." 

As he released her hand, Edith's 
face suddenly whitened. All her lit- 
tle world was slipping away from be- 
neath her feet. 

Mr. Yorke was touched and im- 
pressed. He liked the young man's 
dignity. " I must compliment you, 
sir, on your honorable conduct in this 
affair," he said. " Let us hear from 
you; and come to see us whenever 
you are in our neighborhood." 

Dick Rowan, in his turn, would 
have been touched by this unexpect- 
ed cordiality, had not a slight raising 
of Miss Melicent Yorke's eyebrows 
neutralized its effect. The young 
woman thought that her father was 
really condescending unnecessarily. 
That faint, supercilious surprise check- 
ed the young man's gratitude, and he 
was turning away with a cold word 
of thanks, when Mrs. Yorke called 
him back. She was leaning from the 
carriage, and held out her hand to 

" Good-by, Mr. Rowan !" she said 
aloud. " You need not fear that we 
shall not cherish this orphan whom 
you have kindly protected so far, and 
you need not fear that we shall try 

to make her forget you. Ingratitude 
is the vice of slaves. I am sure she 
will never be ungrateful to you." 

" Thank you !" Dick said fervent- 
jy, melted by the kind smile and 
tremulous sweetness of tone. It was 
none of Miss Melicent's exasperating 

" And I have a favor to ask," she 
added, leaning still further out, and 
lowering her voice so that only he 
could hear. " I take for granted that 
you will write to my niece. Will you 
allow her to let me read your let- 

Dick blushed deeply as he stam- 
mered out another " Thank you !" 
It was a delicately given warning 
and kindly given permission. It 
showed him, moreover, that the la- 
dy's soft eyes had looked to the bot- 
tom of his heart. At that moment 
he was glad that the ring on Edith's 
finger was Captain Gary's gift, not 

" I would like to see the steam- 
boat just as long as it is in sight," 
Edith said faintly.- 

Her uncle immediately gave orders 
to the driver to take them round 
to a place from which they could 
look down to the entrance of the 

The boat steamed out over the 
water, glided like a swan down the 
bay, and soon disappeared around a 
curve that led to the Narrows. 
Edith gazed immovably after it, un- 
conscious that they were all watch- 
ing her. When it was no longer vi 
sible, she closed her eyes, and sank 
back into Mrs. Yorke's arms. 



MRS. CHARLES YORKE was a native 
of Seaton ; her maiden name, Arnold 

quite young, and in a few years the 
father married again. This marriage 

Her mother had died while Amy was was an unfortunate one for the fami- 
VOL. xm. 12. 

The House of Yorke. 

ly; and not only the daughter but 
many of Mr. Arnold's friends had 
tried to dissuade him from it. Their 
chief argument was not that the per- 
son whom he proposed to marry was 
a vulgar woman whom his lost wife 
would not have received as an ac- 
quaintance, but that she was in every 
way unworthy of him, and would be 
a discreditable connection. They 
met the fate which usually awaits 
such interference. Truth itself never 
appears so true as varnished false- 
hood does. Mr. Arnold was flattered 
and duped ; and the end of the affair 
was that Amy had the misery of 
seeing his deceiver walk triumphant- 
ly into her mother's sacred place. 
Nor was this all. In a moment of 
weakness, the father betrayed to his 
new wife the efforts that had been 
made to separate them, and she half- 
guessed, half-drew from him every 
name. From that moment her in- 
stinctive jealous dislike of her step- 
daughter was turned to hatred. 

Had the young girl been wise, she 
would have known that her only pro- 
per course was to withdraw from the 
field ; but she was inexperienced and 
passionate, and had no better adviser 
than her own heart. Had she been 
a Catholic, she could have found in 
the confessional the confidant and 
counsel she needed; but she was 
not. In Seaton there were no Ca- 
tholics above the class of servants 
and day-laborers. She was left, 
therefore, completely to herself, and 
in the power of an unscrupulous and 
subtle tormentor. Miserable, indig- 
nant, and desperate, the young girl 
descended to the contest, and at 
every step she was defeated. She 
called on her father for protection ; 
but he saw nothing of her trials, or 
was made to believe that she had 
herself provoked them. It was the 
old story of adroit deceit arrayed 
against impolitic sincerity. -But, hap- 

pily, the contest was not of long du- 

Amy was not a person to remain 
in a position so false and degrading. 
There came a time when, quite as 
much to her own surprise as to theirs, 
she had nothing more to say. But 
their surprise was that she contend- 
ed no longer, hers that she had con- 
tended so long. The way was clear 
before her, and her plans were soon 
made. Her father had an unmarried 
cousin living in Boston, and this lady 
consented to receive her. Only on 
the day preceding her departure did 
she announce her intentions. The 
sufferings she had undergone were a 
sufficient excuse for her abruptness. 
She had become too much weakened 
and excited to bear any controversy 
upon the subject. Besides, the part- 
ing from her father, if prolonged, 
would have been unbearable. She 
must tear herself away. 

He sat a moment with downcast 
eyes after she had communicated to 
him her design. His face expressed 
emotion. He seemed both pained 
and embarrassed, and quite at 'a loss 
what to say. In fact, his wife had 
proposed this very plan, and was 
anxious that Amy should go, and he 
had entertained the project. There- 
fore he could not express surprise. 
For the first time, perhaps, a feeling 
of shame overcame him. He was 
obliged to deceive! His pride, re- 
volting at that shame, made him im- 
patient. Unwilling to acknowledge 
himself in the wrong, he wished to 
appear injured. 

"If you mean to deprive me of 
my only child, and would rather live 
with strangers than with your own 
father, I will not oppose you," he 
said. " But I think you might have 
shown some confidence in me, and 
told me your wishes before." 

Amy's impulse had been, at the 
first sight of his emotion, to throw 

The House of Yorke. 

herself into his arms, and forgive 
him everything, or take upon herself 
all the blame. But at these words 
she recoiled. Her silence was bet- 
ter than any answer could have been. 

" I don't blame you, child," her 
father resumed, blushing for the eva- 
sion he had practised. " It would 
be cruel of me to wish you to stay 
in a home where you cannot live in 
peace. I am grieved, Amy, but I 
can do nothing. What can a man 
do between women who disagree ?" 

" Find out which is wrong !" was 
the answer that rose to her lips, but 
she suppressed it. She had already 
exhausted words to him. She had 
poured out her pain, her love, her 
entreaties, and they had been to him 
as the idle wind. She had been 
wronged and insulted, and he would 
not see it. She turned away with a 
feeling of despair. 

" At least, let us part as a father 
and daughter should," he said in a 
trembling voice. 

She held out one hand to him, 
and with the other covered her face, 
unable to utter a word ; then broke 
away, and shut herself into her cham- 
ber. There are times when entire 
reparation only is tolerable, and we 
demand full justice, or none. 

So they parted, and never met 
again, though they corresponded re- 
gularly, and wrote kind if not confi- 
dential letters. The only sign the 
daughter ever had of any change of 
opinion in her father regarding the 
cause of their separation was when 
he requested her to send her letters 
to his office and not to the house. 
After that they both wrote more 

In her new home, Amy did not 
find all sunshine. Miss Clinton was 
old and notional, and had too great 
a fondness for thinking for others as 
well as herself. Consequently, when 
the young lady favored the addresses 

of a poor artist who had been em- 
ployed to paint her portrait, there 
was an explosion. With her father's 
consent, Amy married Carl Owen, 
and her cousin discarded her. There 
was one year of happiness ; then the 
young husband died, and left his 
wife with an infant son. 

In her trouble, Mrs. Owen made 
the acquaintance of Mrs. Edith 
Yorke, who became to her a helpful 
friend ; and in little more than a 
year she married that lady's eldest 
son, Charles. From that moment 
her happiness was assured. She found 
herself surrounded by thoroughly 
congenial society, and blest with the 
companionship of* one who was to 
her father, husband, and brother, all 
she had ever lost or longed for. Mr. 
Yorke adopted her son as his own, 
and, so far from showing any jea- 
lousy of his predecessor, was the one 
to propose that the boy should retain 
his own father's name in addition to 
the one he adopted. 

As daughters grew up around them, 
he appeared to forget that Carl was 
not his own son, at least so far as 
pride in him went. Probably he 
showed more fondness for his girls. 

Mr. Arnold died shortly after his 
daughter's second marriage, and his 
wife followed him in a few years. By 
their death Mrs. Yorke became the 
owner of her old home. But she 
had no desire to revisit the scene of 
so much misery, and for years the 
house was left untenanted in the care 
of a keeper. Nor would they ever 
have gone there, probably, but for 
pecuniary losses which made them 
glad of any refuge. 

Mr. Charles Yorke appreciated the 
value of money, and knew admira- 
bly well how to spend it; but the 
acuteness which can foresee and make 
bargains, and the unscrupulousness 
which is so often necessary to insure 
their success, he had not. Conse- 

i So 

The House of Yorke. 

quently, when in an evil hour he em- 
barked his inherited wealth in specu- 
lation, it was nearly all swept away. 

Creditors, knowing his probity, of- 
fered to wait. 

" Why should I wait ?" he asked. 
" Will my debts contract as the cold 
weather comes on ? I prefer an im- 
mediate settlement." 

Not displeased at his refusal to 
profit by their generosity, they hint- 
ed at a willingness to take a percent- 
age on their claims. 

" A percentage !" cried the debtor. 
" Am 1 a swindler ? Am I a beggar ? 
I shall pay a hundred per cent., and 
I recommend you in your future deal- 
ings with me to bear in mind that I 
am a gentleman and not an adven- 

A very old-fashioned man was Mr. 
Charles Yorke, and a very hard man 
to pity. 

Behold him, then, and his family 
en route for their new home. 

We have said that the two princi- 
pal streets of the town of Seaton 
crossed each other at right angles, 
one running north and south along 
the river, the other running east and 
west across the river. These roads 
carried themselves very straightly be- 
fore folks, but once out of town, 
forgot their company manners, and 
meandered as they chose, splintered 
into side-tracks, and wandered off in 
vagabond ways. But the south road, 
that passed by the Rowans', was the 
only one that came to nothing. The 
other three persisted till they each 
found a village or a city, twenty-five 
miles or so away. Half a mile from 
the village centre, on North Street, a 
very respectable-looking road started 
off eastward, ran across a field, and 
plunged into the forest that swept 
down over a long smooth rise from 
far-away regions of wildness. Fol- 
lowing this road half a mile, one saw 
at the left a tumble-down stone wall 

across an opening, with two gates, 
painted black in imitation of iron, 
about fifteen rods apart. A little fur- 
ther on, it became visible that an 
avenue went from gate to gate, en- 
closing a deep half-circle of lawn, on 
which grew several fair enough elms 
and a really fine maple. After such 
preliminaries you expect a house; 
and there it is at the head of the 
avenue, a wide-spread building, with 
a cupola in the centre, a portico in 
front, and a wing at either side. It 
is elevated on a deep terrace, and 
has a background of woods, and 
woods at either hand, only a little 

To be consistent, this house should 
be of stone, or, at least, of brick; 
but it is neither. Still, it would not 
be right to call it a " shingle palace ;" 
for its frame is a massive net-work 
of solid oaken beams, and it is strong 
enough to bear unmoved a shock 
that would set nine out of every ten 
modern city structures rattling down 
into their cellars. When Mrs. Yorke's 
grandfather built this house, in the 
year 1800, English ideas and feelings 
still prevailed in that region ; and in 
building a house, a gentleman thought 
of his grandchildren, who might live 
in it. Now nobody builds with any 
reference to his descendants. 

But Mr. Arnold's plans had prov- 
ed larger than his purse. The park 
he meant to have had still remained 
three hundred acres of wild, unfenc- 
ed land, the gardens never got be- 
yond a few flowers, now choked 
with weeds, and the kitchen-garden, 
kept alive by Patrick Chester, Mrs. 
Yorke's keeper. As for the orchard, 
it never saw the light. Mrs. Yorke's 
father had done the place one good 
turn, for he had planted vines every- 
where. Their graceful banners, in 
summer-time, draped the portico, the 
corners of the house, the dead oak- 
tree by the western wing, and swept 

The House of Yorke. 


here and there over rock, fence, or 

Back of the house, toward the 
right, was a huge barn and a 
granary ; the eaves of both under- 
hung with a solid row of swallows' 
nests. On this bright April morning, 
the whole air was full of the twirl 
and twitter of these birds, and with 
the blue glancing of their wings 
some invisible crystalline ring 
seemed to have been let down from 
the heavens over and around the 
house, and they followed its outline 
in their flight. But the homely, 
bread-and-butter robins had no such 
mystical ways. They flew or hopped 
straight where they wanted to go, and 
what they wanted to get was plainly 
something to eat. One of them alight- 
ed on the threshold of the open front- 
door and looked curiously in. He 
saw a long hall, with a staircase on 
one side, and open doors to right and 
left and at the furthest end. All 
the wood-work, walls, and ceilings 
in sight were dingy, and rats and 
mice had assisted time in gnawing 
away ; but the furniture was bright, 
and three fires visible through the 
three open doors were brighter still. 
Redbreast seemed to be much inter- 
ested in these fires. Probably he 
was a bird from the city, and had 
never seen such large ones. Those 
in the front rooms were large enough, 
but that in the kitchen was something 
immense, and yet left room at one 
side of the fireplace for a person to 
sit and look up chimney, if so dis- 

" Bon > " says the bird, with a nod, 
hopping in, " the kitchen is the place 
to go to. As to those flowers and 
cherries on the floor, I am not to be 
cheated by them. They are not 
good to eat, but only to walk on. I 
am a bird of culture and society. I 
know how people live. I am not 
like that stupid chicken." 

For a little yellow chicken, with- 
out a sign of tail, had followed the 
robin in, and was eagerly pecking at 
the spots in the carpet. 
. The bird of culture hopped along 
to the door at the back of the hail, 
and paused again to reconnoitre. 
Here a long, narrow corridor ran 
across, with doors opening into the 
front rooms, and one into the kitchen, 
and a second stairway at one end. 
Three more hops brought the bird to 
the threshold of the kitchen-door, 
where a third pause occurred, this 
one not without trepidation; for 
here in the great kitchen a woman 
stood at a table with a pan of po- 
tatoes before her. She had washed 
them, and was now engaged in par- 
tially paring them and cutting out 
any suspicious spots that might be 
visible on the surfaces. "It takes 
me to make new potatoes out of old 
ones !" she said to herself with an air 
of satisfaction, tossing the potato in 
in her hand into a pan of cold water. 

This woman was large-framed and 
tall, and over forty years of age. 
She had a homely, sensible, pleasant, 
quick-tempered face, and the base of 
her nose was an hypothenuse. Her 
dark hair was drawn back and made 
into a smooth French twist, with a 
shell comb stuck in the top a little 
askew. It is hard to fasten one of 
those twists with the comb quite even, 
if it has much top to it. This comb 
had much top. The woman's face 
shone with washing; she wore a 
straightly-fitting calico gown and a 
white linen collar. The gown was 
newly done up and a little too stiff, 
and to keep it from soil she had 
doubled the skirt up in front and 
pinned it behind, and tied on a large 
apron. For further safeguard, the 
sleeves were turned up and pinned to 
the shoulder by the waistbands. At 
every movement she made these stiff 
clothes rattled. 


Tlie House of Yorke. 

This woman was Miss Betsey 
Bates. She had lived at Mr. Arnold's 
when Miss Amy was a young girl, had 
left when she left, and was now come 
back to live with her again. 

"Just let your water bile," Betsey 
began, addressing an imaginary au- 
dience " let your water bile, and 
throw in a handful of salt ; then wash 
your potatoes clean ; peel 'em all but 
a strip or two to hold together ; cut 
out the spots, and let 'em lay awhile 
in cold water ; when it's time to cook 
'em, throw 'em into your biling water, 
and clap on your lid ; then " 

Betsey stopped suddenly and 
looked over her shoulder to listen, 
but, hearing no carriage-wheels nor 
human steps, resumed her occupa- 
tion. She did not perceive the two 
little bipeds on the threshold of the 
door, where they were listening to 
her soliloquy with great interest, 
though it was the chicken's steps 
that had attracted her attention. 
That silly creature, dissatisfied with 
his worsted banquet, had hopped 
along to the robin's side, where he 
now stood with a. hungry crop, round 
eyes, and two or three colored threads 
sticking to his bill. 

Betsey's thoughts took a new turn. 
" I must go and see to the fires, and 
put a good beach chunk on each one. 
There's a little chill in the air, and 
everybody wants a fire after a jour- 
ney. It looks cheerful. I've got 
six fires going in this house. What 
do you think of that ? To my idea, 
an open fire in a strange house is 
equal to a first cousin, sometimes 

Here a step sounded outside the 
open window behind the table, and 
Pat Chester appeared, a stout, fine- 
looking, red-faced man, with mis- 
chievous eyes and an honest mouth. 
Curiously enough, the base of his 
nose also was an hypothenuse. Other- 
wise there was no resemblance be- 

tween the two. Betsey used to say 
to him, " Pat, the ends of our noses 
were sawed off the wrong way." 

" Who are you talking to ?" asked 
Pat, stopping to look in and laugh. 

" Your betters," was the retort. 

" I don't envy 'em," said Pat, and 
went on about his business. 

" And I must see to them clocks 
again," pursued Betsey. " The idea 
of having a clock in every room in 
the house ! It takes me half of my 
time to set 'em forward and back. 
As to touching the pendulums of 
such clocks as them, you don't catch 
me. But I do abominate to see one 
mantelpiece a quarter past and an- 
other quarter of at the same time." 

Here a little peck on the floor ar- 
rested Betsey's attention, and, stretch- 
ing her neck, 'she saw the chicken, 
and instantly flew at it with a loud 
" shoo !" With its two bits of wings 
extended and its head advanced as 
far as possible, the little wretch fled 
through the hall, peeping with ter- 
ror. But the robin flew up and es- 
caped over Betsey's head. " Laud 
sakes !" she cried, holding on to her 
comb and her eyes, " who ever saw a 
chicken fly up like that ?" 

Wondering over this phenomenon, 
Betsey went up-stairs and replenished 
the fires in three chambers, and set 
some of the clocks forward and 
others back, then hurried down to 
perform the same duties below stairs. 
Just as she set the last hour-hand 
carefully at nine o'clock, Pat put his 
head in at the dining-room window. 
"It's time for 'em to be here," he 
said, " and I'm going down to the 
gate to watch. I'll give a whistle 
the minute they come in sight." 

Immersed in her own thoughts, 
Betsey had jumped violently at sound 
of his voice. " I do believe you're 
possessed to go round poking your 
head in at windows, and scaring peo- 
ple out of their wits !" she cried, with 

The House of Yorke. 


a frightened laugh. " Here I came 
within an ace of upsetting this clock 
or going into the fire." 

Pat laughed back he and Betsey 
were always scolding and always 
laughing at each other muttered 
something about skittish women, and 
walked off down the avenue to watch 
for the family. 

" I believe everything is ready," 
Betsey said, looking round. She took 
off her apron, took down her skirt 
and sleeves, and gave herself a gene- 
ral crackling smoothing over. Then 
suddenly she assumed an amiable 
smile, looked straight before her, 
dropped a short courtesy, and said, 
" How do you do, Mrs. Yorke ? I 
hope I see you well. How do you do, 
sir ? How do you do, miss ? I won- 
der if I had better go out to the door 
when they come, or stand in the en- 
try, or stay in the kitchen. I declare 
to man I don't know what to do ! 
How do you do, ma'am ?" begin- 
ning her practising again, this time 
before the glass. " I hope I see you 
well. To think of my not being mar- 
ried at all, and her having grown-up 
children !" she said, staring through 
the window. " The last time I saw 
her, she was a pretty creature, as pale 
as a snow-drop. Poor thing ! she 
had a hard time of it with that Jeze- 
bel. She never said anything to me, 
nor I to her ; but many a time she 
has come to me when that woman 
has been up to her tricks, and held 
on to me, and gasped for breath. 
' O my heart! my heart!' she'd say. 
' Don't speak to me, Betsey, but hold 
me a minute !' It was awful to see 
her white face, and to feel her heart 
jump as if it would tear itself out. 
That \vas the way trouble always took 
hold of her." 

She mused a moment longer, then 
broke off suddenly, and began anew 
her practice. " How do you do, 
ma'am ? I hope I see you well." 

Presently a loud, shrill whistle in- 
terrupted her. Betsey rushed excit- 
edly into the kitchen, dashed her po- 
tatoes into the kettle, tied on a clean 
apron that stood out like cast-iron 
with starch, and hovered in the rear 
of the hall, to be ready for advance 
or retreat, as occasion might demand. 

The old yellow coach came through 
the gate, up the muddy avenue, and 
drew up at the steps. The two gen- 
tlemen got out first, then the young 
ladies, and all stood around while 
Mrs. Yorke slowly alighted. She 
was very pale, but smiled kindly on 
them, then took her son's arm, and 
went up the steps. Mr. Yorke stop- 
ped to offer his hand to a little girl 
who still remained in the coach. 
" My sakes !" muttered Betsey. " If 
it isn't that Rowan young one !" 

" Mother dear," said the son, " it 
is possible to make a very beautiful 
place of this." 

She looked at him with a bright- 
ening smile. " You think so, Carl ?" 

She had been anxiously watching 
what impression the sight of her old 
home would make on her family, and 
exaggerating its defects in her own 
imagination, as she fancied they were 
doing in theirs. Their silence so far 
had given her a pang, since she in- 
terpreted it to mean disappointment, 
when in truth it had meant solici- 
tude for her. They thought that she 
would be agitated on coming again 
to her childhood's home after so Ion g 
an absence. So she was; but her- 
own peculiar memories gave prece- 
dence to that which concerned those 
dearest to her. 

" Besides, mother," Owen continu- 
ed, " this spot has a charm for me 
which no other could have, however 
beautiful: it \^ yours." 

That word conveyed the first inti- 
mation Mrs. Yorke had ever received 
that her son felt his dependence on a 
stepfather. But the pain the know- 

1 84 

The House of Yorke. 

ledge caused her was instantly ban- 
ished by the recollection that the 
cause of his uneasiness was now re- 

" My great-grandfather had ideas, 
though he did not carry them out," 
remarked Melicent. " If he had built 
his house of stone, it would have 
done very well. It is astonishing 
that he did not. But the earlier set- 
tlers in this country seemed to revel 
in wood, probably because it had 
been to them in the Old World a 
luxury. With heaps of stones at 
hand, they would persist in building 
their houses of logs." 

At this point Betsey rushed out to 
\yelcome Mrs. Yorke. The sight of 
that pale face which seemed to be 
looking for her, and the slight, cling- 
ing form that used to cling to her, 
quite overcame her shyness. 

" You dear creature, how glad I 
am to see you once more !" she cried 
out. And, seizing the lady by the 
shoulders, gave her a resounding kiss 
on the cheek. 

" Please do not touch Mrs. Yorke's 
left arm. It gives her palpitation," 
said the son rather stiffly. 

Young Mr. Owen had an invin- 
cible repugnance to personal fami- 
liarities, especially from inferiors. 

" Dear Betsey, this is my son," the 
mother said proudly, looking at her 
manly young escort, as if to see him 
anew with a stranger's admiring eyes. 
" Carl has heard me speak of you 
many a time, my old friend !" 

Betsey immediately dropped a so- 
lemn courtesy. " I hope I see you 
well, sir !" she said, remembering her 

" This must be Betsey Bates!" cried 
Miss Melicent, coming forward with 
great cordiality. " Mamma has 
spoken of you so often I knew you 
at once." 

Miss Yorke did not say that she 
recognized Betsey by her nose, though 

that was the fact. The impression 
left on the woman's mind was of 
something highly complimentary, that 
some air expressive of honesty, faith- 
fulness, and affection, or some sub- 
tile personal grace not universally ac- 
knowledged, had led to the recogni- 

On the threshold of the door, 
Mrs. Yorke turned to receive her hus- 
band. She could not utter a word ; 
but her face expressed what she 
would have said. In her look could 
be read that she placed in his hands 
all that was hers, regretting only that 
the gift was so small. 

One saw then, too, that Mr. Yorke's 
sarcastic face was capable of great 
tenderness. As he met that mute 
welcome, a look of indulgent kind- 
ness softened his keen eyes, gave his 
scornful mouth a new shape, and 
lighted up his whole countenance. 
But he knew better than allow his 
wife to yield to any excitement of 

" Yes, Amy !" he said cheerfully, 
" I think we shall make a very 
pleasant home here. Now come in 
and rest." 

They went into the sitting-room at 
the left of the hall, and Mrs. Yorke 
was seated in an arm-chair there be- 
tween the fire and the sunshine, and 
they all waited on her. Hester, 
kneeling by her mother, removed her 
gloves and overshoes, Clara took off 
her bonnet and shawl, arid Melicent, 
after whispering a word to Betsey, 
went out with that factotum, and pre- 
sently returned bearing a tin cup of 
coffee on which a froth of cream still 

" I've taken a cup, mamma," she 
said, "and I can recommend it. 
And breakfast will be ready in two 

Owen Yorke, missing one of the 
company, went out, and found Edith 
standing forlorn in the portico, biting 

The House of Yorke. 

her quivering lips, and struggling to 
restrain the tears that threatened to 
overflow her eyes. For the first time 
in her life the child felt timid and 
disconcerted. She was among her 
own people, and they had forgotten 
her. At that moment she longed 
passionately for Dick Rowan, and 
would have flown to him had it been 

" Come, little Gypsy !" he said. 
" You're not going to run away, I 
hope? Did you think we had for- 
gotten you ? See ! I have not." 

Owen Yorke's face was very win- 
ning when he chose, and his voice 
could express a good deal of kindness. 
Edith looked at him steadily a mo- 
ment, then took the hand he offered, 
and went into the house with him. 
As they entered, Mrs. Yorke rose to 
give the child an affectionate wel- 
come to her new home, and the 
daughters gathered about her with 
those bright, profuse words which are 
so pleasant even when they mean so 

A folding-door opened from the 
sitting-room into the dining-room, 
which occupied the front half of the 
we~st wing, and here a breakfast was 
set out that dismayed the eyes of those 
who were expected to partake of it. 
There was a fricassee which had cost 
the lives of three hens of family, and 
occasioned a serious squabble be- 
tween Pat and Betsey ; there was a 
vast platter of ham and eggs, and a 
pyramid of potatoes piled so high 
that the first time it was touched one 
rolled off on to the cloth. Poor Bet- 
sey had no conception of the Yorke 
ideal of a proper breakfast. 

"The good creature has such a 
generous heart!" Mrs. Yorke said, 
checking with a glance the titter 
which her two younger daughters had 
not tried to restrain. " And I am 
sure that everything is delicious." 

Taking a seat at the table, Edith 

recollected that a trial awaited her. 
It was Friday ; and abstinence from 
meat on that day was the one point 
in her mother's religion which she 
knew and practised. Otherwise she 
was as ignorant of it as possible. 

Owen Yorke, sitting opposite, 
watched her curiously, perceiving 
that something was the matter. He 
noticed the slight bracing of the mus- 
cles of her face and neck, and that 
she drew her breath in like one who 
is preparing for a plunge, and kept 
her eyes steadily fixed on Mr. Yorke. 
Edith's way was to look at what she 

" Some of the chicken, little niece?" 
her uncle asked pleasantly. 

" No, sir, I do not eat meat on 
Friday. I am a Roman Catholic," 
the child answered with precision. 
And, having made the announcement 
thus fully, shut her mouth, and sat 
pale, with her eyes fixed on Mr. 
Yorke's face. 

A smile flashed into Owen Yorke's 
eyes at this reply. " Little Spartan !" 
he thought. 

Edith did not miss the slight con- 
traction of the brows and the down- 
ward twitch of the corners of the 
mouth in the face she watched ; but 
the signs of displeasure passed as 
quickly as they came. " Then I am 
afraid you will make a poor break- 
fast," Mr. Yorke said gently. " But 
I will do the best I can for you," 

There was a momentary silence; 
then the talk went on as before. But 
the family were deeply annoyed. It 
seemed enough that they should have 
to take this little waif, with they 
knew not what low habits and asso- 
ciates, or what unruly fires of temper 
inherited from her mother, without 
having an alien religion brought 
into their midst. Catholicism as they 
had seen it abroad appealed to their 
esthetic sense. It floated there in a 
higher atmosphere, adorned with all 

1 86 

The House of Yorke. 

that wealth and culture could do. 
But at home they preferred to keep 
it where, as a rule, they found it in 
the kitchen and the stable. 

After they had returned to the sit- 
ting-room, Mr. Yorke called Edith 
to him. She went trembling ; for, in 
spite of himself, her uncle's face wore 
a judicial look. The girls, who were 
just going up-stairs, lingered to hear 
what would be said, and Owen took 
his stand behind Mr. Yorke's chair, 
and looked at the child with an en- 
couraging smile. 

" Were the family you lived with 
Catholics, my dear ?" the judge be- 

" No, sir. Only Mr. Rowan was 
when he was a little boy." 

" And Mr. Rowan wished to make 
a Catholic of you ?" Mr. Yorke said, 
his lip beginning to curl. 

The child lifted her head. " Mr. 
Rowan had nothing to say about 
me," she replied. " It was my mo- 

A slight smile went round the cir- 
cle. They quite approved of her re- 

" But you cannot recollect your 
mother ?" Mr. Yorke continued. 

" Oh ! yes," Edith said with anima- 
tion. " I remember ho\v she looked, 
and what she said. She made me 
hold up my hands, and promise that 
I would be a Roman Catholic if I 
had to die for it. And that was the 
last word she ever said." 

Mr. Yorke gave a short nod. To 
his mind the matter was settled. 
" N'est ce pas ?" he said to his wife. 

She bowed gravely. " There is no 
other way. It is impossible to ask 
her to break a promise so given. 
When she is older, she can choose 
for herself." 

" Well, you hear, girls ?" Mr. Yorke 
said, looking at his daughters. " Now 
take her, and make her feel at 

Miss Yorke was dignified and in- 
scrutable, Hester unmistakably cold, 
but Clara took her cousin's hand 
with the utmost cordiality, and was 
leading her from the room, when 
Edith stopped short, her eyes attract- 
ed by a cabinet portrait in oils that 
stood on a shelf near the door. This 
portrait represented a young man, 
with one of those ugly, beautiful 
faces which fascinate us, we know 
not why. Careless, profuse locks of 
golden brown clustered around his 
head, steady, agate-colored eyes fol- 
lowed the beholder wherever he went, 
and seemed at once defying him to 
escape and entreating him not to go, 
and the sunshine -of a hidden smile 
softened the curves of the mouth and 

Edith's eyes sparkled, her face grew 
crimson, and she clasped her hands 
tightly on her breast. 

" That is your father's portrait, my 
dear," Mrs. Yorke said, going to her. 
" Do you recognize it ?" 

The child restrained herself one 
moment, then she ran to the picture, 
clasped her arms around it, and kiss- 
ed it over and over, weeping passion- 
ately. " It is mine ! It is mine !" 
she cried out, when her aunt tried 
to soothe her. 

" You are right, dear !" Mrs. Yorke 
said, much affected. " I am sure no 
one will object to your having the 
portrait. You may take it to your 
own chamber, if you wish." 

Edith controlled herself, wiped her 
eyes, and put the picture down. 
" Dear Aunt Amy," she said, " you 
know I want it; but I won't take it 
unless you and Uncle Charles are 
quite willing." 

It was touching, her first acknow- 
ledgment of kinship, and expression 
of trust and submission. They cor- 
dially assured her of their willingness, 
kissed her again in token of a closer 
adoption, and smiled after her as she 

The House of Yorkc. 


went off with her father's portrait 
clasped to her heart. 

Melicent and Hester still lingered. 
Melicent remembered faintly her Un- 
cle Robert's marriage, and the disa- 
greeable feeling in the family at that 
time. It had left on her mind a pre- 
judice against " that Polish girl," and 
a shade of disfavor toward her daugh- 
ter. But she said nothing. 

" It will be so disagreeable having 
a Catholic in the family!" Hester 

" Hester, listen to me !" her father 
said severely. " I want no bigotry 
nor petty persecutions in my family. 
Your Cousin Edith has as good a 
right to her religion as you have to 
yours ; and if either should find her- 
self disagreeably situated, it is she, 
for she is alone. Don't forget this ; 
and don't let there be anything offen- 
sive said, or hinted, or looked. I 
mean to be consistent, and allow oth- 
ers the same freedom which I claim 
myself. Now, let me hear no more 
of this." 

Hester took refuge in tears. It 
was her sole argument. She was 
one of those soft creatures who re- 
qyire to be petted, and have a talent 
for being abused. Possibly, too, she 
was a little jealous of this new mem- 
ber of the family. 

" Melicent, will you lead away this 
weeping nymph, and dry her tears ?" 
the father said impatiently. " Com- 
mon sense is too robust for her con- 

The sisters went up-stairs, and 
Owen followed them presently, and 
climbed to the cupola. Leaning on 
the window-sill there, he looked off 
over the country. The horizon was 
a ring of low blue hills, with a grand 
amethyst glittering to tell where the 
sea lay. Through the centre of this 
vast circle glimmered the river, silver, 
and gold, and steel-blue, and the 
white houses of the town lay like a 

heap of lilies scattered on its banks. 
Everywhere else was forest. 

Shadows of varying thought swept 
over the young man's face as he 
looked off, and drew freer breath 
from the distance. " Henceforth my 
shield must bear a martlet," he mut- 
tered. " But whither shall I fly ?" 

That was the problem he was stu- 
dying. He had come to this place 
only to see his family settled, and 
collect his own thoughts after their 
sudden fall from prosperity ; then he 
would go out into the world, and 
work his own way. It was not plea- 
sant, the change from that life of 
noble leisure and lofty work which 
he had planned, to one where com- 
pulsory labor for mere bread must 
occupy the greater part of his time ; 
but it was inevitable. And as he 
looked abroad now, and breathed 
the fresh air that came frolicking out 
of the northwest, and remembered 
how wide the world is and how many 
veins in it are un wrought, his young 
courage rose, and the plans he had 
been building up for that year crum- 
bled and ceased to excite his regret. 

Only a few months before their 
change of circumstances, his mother 
had been won to consent that he 
might visit Asia. He had meant to 
go north, south, east, and west, in 
that shabby, glorious old land, make 
himself for the nonce Tartar, Chi- 
nese, Indian, Persian, what not, and 
get a look at creation through the 
eyes of each. This young man's 
sympathies were by no means nar- 
row. He had never been able to 
believe that God smiles with peculiar 
fondness on any particular continent, 
island, peninsula, or part of either, 
and is but a stepfather to the rest 
of the world. He was born with a 
hatred of barriers. He sympathized 
with Swift, who " hated all nations, 
professions, and communities, and 
gave all his love to individuals." Or, 


The House of Yorke. 

better than Swift, he had at least a 
theoretical love for mankind unfenc- 
ed. He did not have to learn to 
love, that came naturally to him ; he 
had to learn to hate. But he was a 
good hater. Take him all in all, 
Carl Owen Yorke was at twenty-one 
a noble, generous youth, of good 
mind and unstained reputation; and 
it was no proof of excessive vanity 
in him that he believed himself capa- 
ble of taking any position he might 
strive for. 

" My dear Minerva tells me that I 
have in me some of the elements of 
failure," he said. " I wonder what 
they are ?" 

This " dear Minerva " was Miss 
Alice Mills, Mr. Robert Yorke's de- 
serted fiancfe. She and Owen were 
very close friends. It was one of 
those friendships which sometimes 
grow up between a woman whose 
youth is past and a youth whose 
manhood has scarcely arrived. Such 
a friendship may effect incalculable 
good or incalculable harm, as the 
woman shall choose. 

" Well," he concluded, not caring 
to puzzle over the riddle, " she will 
explain, I suppose, when she writes. 
And if anybody can get at the cube- 
root of the difficulty, she can." 

Meantime, while the son was mus- 
ing, and the daughters were selecting 
their chambers, and making up a 
toilet for Edith, Mr. Yorke had sent 
for Patrick Chester in the sitting-room, 
and was questioning him concerning 
Catholic affairs in Seaton. They did 
not seem to be in a flourishing con- 

There was no priest settled there, 
Patrick said; but one came over 

from B once in two months, and 

said Mass for them. They had no 
church yet, but a little chapel, what 
there was left of it. 

" What do you mean by that ?" his 
master asked. 

"Why, sir, some of the Seaton 
rowdies got into the chapel, one night, 
not long ago, and smashed the win- 
dows, and broke up the tabernacle, 
and destroyed the pictures entirely. 
And they twisted off the crucifix, 
though it was of iron, two inches 
wide and half an inch thick. The 
devil must have helped the man that 
did it, savin' your presence, ma'am." 

" Are they vandals here?" demand- 
ed Mr. Yorke. 

" There are some fine folks in Sea- 
ton," said Pat, who did not know 
what vandals are. " But the rowdies 
have everything pretty much their 
own way." 

" And is there no law in the town ?" 
asked Mr. Yorke wrathfully. 

" There's a good many lawyers," 
said Pat, scratching his head. 

" You mean to say that there was 
no effort made to discover and pun- 
ish the perpetrators of such an out- 
rage ?" exclaimed his master. 

" Indeed there was not, sir !" Pat 
answered. " People knew pretty well 
who did the mischief, and that the 
fellow that broke off the crucifix was 
taken bleeding at the lungs just after ; 
but nobody molested 'em. It wouldn't 
be well for the one who would lift 
his voice against the Seaton rowdies. 
Why, some of 'em belong to as weal- 
thy families as there are in town. 
They began with a cast-iron band 
years ago, and everybody laughed at 
'em. All the harm they did was to 
wake people out of sleep. Then 
they broke up a lecture. It was a 
Mr. Fowle from Boston, who was 
preaching about education. And 
then they did a little mischief here 
and there to people they didn't like, 
and now they are too strong to put 
down. And, indeed, sir, when it's 
against the Catholics they are, no- 
body wants to put 'em down." 

Mr. Yorke glanced at his wife. 
She did not look up nor deny Pa- 

Our Lady of Guadalupe. 


trick's charges. She was a little 
ashamed of the character of her na- 
tive town in this respect; for at 
that time Seaton was notorious for 
its lawlessness, and was even proud 
of its reputation. No great harm 
had been done, they said. It was 
only the boys' fun. They were sorry, 
it is true, that a respectable lecturer 
should have been insulted; but that 
a Catholic chapel should be dese- 

crated, that was nothing. They did 
not give it a second thought. 

" Well, Patrick," Mr. Yorke resum- 
ed, " my niece, Miss Edith Yorke, is 
a. Catholic, and I wish her to have 
proper instruction, and to attend to 
the services of her church when there 
is opportunity. Let me know the 
next time your priest comes here, and 
I will call to see him. Now you 
may go." 



THE story and celebration of Our 
Lady of Guadalupe are not so fami- 
liar to Catholics, or so well appre- 
ciated by others, as to render useless 
or uninteresting, especially in this 
month of Mary, an account of her ve- 
neration in Mexico. What this ac- 
tually, veritably is, no writer, so far 
as we are aware, has yet undertaken 
to show at least, from such literary 
evidences of popular conviction as 
best illustrate the subject. How any- 
thing supernatural could shine or 
blossom in a land of wars, robbers, 
Indians, is an old doubt, notwithstand- 
ing that revelations have taken place 
in countries which needed them less 
than did the once idolatrous Aztecs. 
Let us now endeavor to make clear 
what the true nature of the miracle 
of Guadalupe is; to exhibit its real 
veneration by means of testimonies 
borrowed from the worthiest Mexi- 
cans ; and to prove that the faith of 
Guadalupe is not shallow, but long 
and well-established, widespread, and 

Here follows a brief history of the 

renowned miracle of Tepeyac. In 
1531, ten years after the conquest, 
the pious and simple Indian, Juan 
Diego, was on his way to the village 
of Guadalupe, near the city of Mexi- 
co, there to receive the instructions 
of some reverend fathers. Suddenly, 
at the hill of Tepeyac appeared to 
him the Blessed Virgin, who com- 
manded her amazed client to go forth- 
with to the bishop, and make known 
that she wished a church to be built 
in her honor upon that spot. Next 
day the Blessed Virgin returned to 
hear the regret of Juan Diego that 
he could not obtain the ear of the 
bishop. " Go back," said the Holy 
Lady, " and announce that I, Mary, 
Mother of God, 'send thee." The 
Indian again sought his bishop, who 
this time required that he should 
bring some token of the presence and 
command of his patroness. On the 
1 2th of December, Juan Diego again 
saw Our Lady, who ordered him 
to climb to the top of the barren 
rock of Tepeyac and there gather 
roses for her. To his great astonish- 


Our Lady of Guadalupe. 

merit, he found the roses flourishing 
on the rock, and brought them to his 
patroness, who threw them into his 
tilma or apron, and said : " Go back 
to the bishop and show him these 
credentials." Again came the Indian 
before the bishop, and, opening his 
tilma to show the roses, lo ! there ap- 
peared impressed upon it a marvel- 
lous image of the Blessed Virgin. 
The bishop was awestruck and over- 
come. The miraculous occurrence 
was made known and proved. Pro- 
cessions and Masses celebrated it, 
and its fame spread far and wide. 
A large new cathedral was erected 
on the hill of Guadalupe, and multi- 
tudes from all parts flocked thither. 
Specially noteworthy is the fact that 
the new shrine to Our Lady was 
erected in the place where once the 
Indians worshipped their goddess To- 
tantzin, mother of other deities, and 
protectress of fruits and fields. The 
marvellous picture was found im- 
pressed upon the rudest cloth, that 
of a poor Indian's apron, the last 
upon which to attempt a painter's ar- 
tifice and hence the greater won- 
der, the artistic testimony regarding 
which is something formidable and 
wonderful in itself. 

What is known in Mexico as the 
Day of Guadalupe is extraordinary 
as a popular manifestation. On the 
1 2th of December every year, fif- 
teen or twenty thousand Indians con- 
gregate in the village of that name 
to celebrate the anniversary of the 
Marvellous Apparition. The whole 
way to the famous suburb is crowd- 
ed with cabs, riders, and pedestrians 
of the poorest sort, a great number 
of them barefooted. All day there is 
an ever-moving multitude to and 
from the village, and, indeed, the 
majority of the inhabitants of the city 
of Mexico seem to be included in the 
parties, families, and caravans of 
strangely contrasted people that wend 

their way to the shrines on the hill. 
The most numerous class of pilgrims 
ate the saddest and the most wretched 
we mean the ill-clad, ill-featured, 
simple, devoted Indians. On them 
the luxuries of the rich, the passions 
of the fighters, the intrigues of politi- 
cians, have borne with ruinous effect 
Drudging men and women ; hewers 
of wood and drawers of Avater ; bare- 
breasted peasants, with faces dusky 
and dusty, the same who any day 
may be seen on Mexican roads car- 
rying burdens of all sorts strapped to 
their backs ; children in plenty, bare, 
unkempt, untidy, and sometimes swad- 
dled about their mothers' shoulders ; 
numerous babes at the breast, half- 
nude these are some of the features 
in a not overdrawn picture of the pri- 
mitive poverty which assembles at 
Guadalupe, and, in fact, in every 
Mexican multitude whatsoever. Per- 
haps nowhere outside of Mexico and 
the race of Indians can such a prob- 
lem of multitudinous poverty be seen. 
Its victims are those over whom the 
desert-storms of wars and feuds innu- 
merable have passed, and, spite of 
all their wanderings as a race, they 
yet wear the guise and character of 
tribes who are- still trying to find their 
way out of a wilderness or a barren 
waste. Let enthusiasts for self-will- 
ed liberty say what they will, wars 
of fifty years are anything but con- 
servative of happiness, cleanliness, 
good morals, and that true liberty 
which should always accompany 
them. However fondly we cherish 
our ideals of freedom, we must yet 
bear in mind the wholesome, whole- 
sale truth of history, that no actual 
liberty is reached by the dagger and 
guillotine, or by massacre, or is 
founded on bad blood or bad faith. 
Those who lately celebrated the exe- 
cution of Louis XVI. and the intel- 
lectual system of murder established 
by Robespierre, and not totally dis- 

Our Lady of Guadalupe. 


approved by Mr. Carlyle, have good 
reason to be cautious as to how they 
offend this menacing truth. 

A cathedral and four chapels are 
the principal structures of the pictu- 
resque hillside village of Guadalupe. 
By a winding ascent among steep, 
herbless rocks, tufted here and there 
with the thorny green slabs of the cac- 
tus, is reached at some distance from 
the cathedral the highest of the cha- 
pels, which contains the original im- 
print of the figure of Our Lady. 
Looking up to the chapel from the 
crowd at the cathedral may be seen 
a striking picture, not unlike what 
Northern travellers have been taught 
to fancy of the middle ages, but the 
elements of which are still abundant 
in the civilization of Europe. It is 
simply the curious crowd of pilgrims 
going up and down the hill, to and 
from the quaint old chapel, built per- 
haps centuries ago. The scene from 
the height itself is charming and im- 
pressive. The widespread valley of 
Mexico including lakes, woods, vil- 
lages, and a rich and substantial city, 
with towers and domes that take en- 
chantment from distance is all be- 
fore the eye in one serene view of 
landscape. In the village there is a 
multitude like another Israel, sitting 
in the dust or standing' near the pul- 
querias, or moving about near the 
church door. As Guadalupe is for 
the most part composed of adobe 
houses, and as its mass of humble 
visitors have little finery to distin- 
guish their brown personages from 
the dust out of which man was origi- 
nally created, the complexion of the 
general scene which they constitute 
can only be described as earth-like 
and earth-worn. Elsewhere than in 
a superficial glance at the poverty of 
Guadalupe we must seek for the 
meaning of its spectacle. Is this 
swarming, dull-colored scene but an 
animated ficiion ? No it is the na- 

tural seeking the supernatural. And 
the supernatural what is it ? It is 
redemption and immortality, our Lord 
and Our Lady, the angels and saints. 
I The cathedral is a building of pic- 
turesque angles, but, except that it 
is spacious, as so many of the Mexi- 
can churches are, makes no particu- 
lar boast of architecture. A copy 
of the marvellous tilma, over the al- 
tar, poetically represents Our Lady 
in a blue cloak covered with stars, 
and a robe said to be of crimson and 
gold, her hands clasped, and her 
foot on a crescent supported by a 
cherub. This is the substance of a 
description of it given by a traveller 
who had better opportunities for see- 
ing it closely than had the present 
writer during the fiesta of Guadalupe 
in 1867. Whether the original picture is 
rude or not, from being impressed upon 
a blanket, he has not personal know- 
ledge, though aware that it has been 
described as rude. Nevertheless, its 
idea and design are beautiful and 
tender. Everywhere in Mexico it is 
the favorite and,, indeed, the most 
lovely presentment of Our Lady. 
Like a compassionate angel of the 
twilight, it looks out of many a 
shrine, and, among all the images for 
which the Mexican Church is noted, 
none is perhaps more essentially 
ideal, and, in that point of view, real. 
Where it appears wrought in a sculp- 
ture of 1686, by Francisco Alberto, 
on the side of San Agustin's at the 
capital, it is, though quaint, very ad- 
mirable for its purity and gentleness. 
Time respects it, and the birds have 
built their nests near it. The various 
chapels in and about the city dedi- 
cated to Our Lady of Guadalupe 
are recognized by the star-mantled 
figure. The Baths of the Penon, 
the cathedral at the Plaza, the suburb 
of Tacubaya, have each their pictorial 
witnesses of the faith of Guadalupe; 
and to say that its manifestation 


Our Lady of Guadalupe. 

abounds in Mexico is but to state a 
fact of commonplace. Rich and 
poor venerate the tradition of the 
Marvellous Appearance, now for 
three centuries celebrated, and always, 
it seems, by multitudes. 

What else is to be seen at Guada- 
lupe besides its crowd and its altar 
is not worthy of extended remark. 
The organs of the cathedral are high 
and admirably carved ; over the al- 
tar's porphyry columns are cherubim 
and seraphim, all too dazzling with 
paint and gold. Here, as in other 
places of Spanish worship, the figures 
of the crucifixion have been designed 
with a painful realism. Outside of 
the church a party of Indians, dis- 
playing gay feathers, danced in honor 
of the feast, as their sires must have 
done hundreds of years ago. Inside 
it was densely crowded with visitors 
or pilgrims, and far too uncomforta- 
ble at times to make possible the 
most accurate observation of its or- 
naments. But it may be well to re- 
peat that the church is divided into 
three naves by eight columns, and is 
about two hundred feet long, one 
hundred and twenty feet broad, and 
one hundred high. The total cost 
of the building, and, we presume, its 
altars, is reckoned as high as $800,- 
ooo, most of it, if not all, contribut- 
ed by alms. The altar at which is 
placed the image of Our Lady is 
said to have cost $381,000, its taber- 
nacle containing 3,257 marks of silver, 
and the gold frame of the sacred pic- 
ture 4,050 castellanos. The church's 
ornaments are calculated to be 
worth more than $123,000. Two of 
its candlesticks alone weighed 2,213 
castellanos in gold, and one lamp 
750 marks of silver. To Cristobal 
de Aguirre, who, in 1660, built a her- 
mitage on the summit of Tepeyac, 
we owe the foundation of the cha- 
pel there. It was not, however, un- 
til 1747 that Our Lady of Guadalupe 

was formally declared the patroness 
of the whole of Mexico. 

Of the many celebrations of Mex- 
ico, none are altogether as signifi- 
cant as that of Guadalupe. It has 
become national, and, in a certain 
sense, religiously patriotic. Maximi- 
lian and Carlota, the writer was in- 
formed, washed the feet of the poor 
near the altar of Our Lady, accord- 
ing to a well-known religious custom. 
The best men and women of Mexico 
have venerated the Marvellous Ap- 
pearance which, however amusing 
it may be to those who are scarcely 
as radical in their belief in nature as 
conservative in their views of the 
supernatural, is but a circumstance 
to the older traditions which have 
entered into the mind of poetry and 
filled the heart of worship. What 
of the wonderful happenings to the 
great fathers of the church and the 
mediaeval saints, all worshippers of 
unquestionable sublimation ? Say 
what you please, doubt as you may, 
saints, angels, miracles, abide, and 
form the very testament of belief. 
There is not a Catholic in the world 
who does not believe in miracle, 
whose faith is not to unbelievers a 
standing miraele of belief in a mira- 
cle the most prodigious, the most 
portentous; and yet to him it has 
only become natural to believe in 
the supernatural. The Mexicans ve- 
nerate what three centuries and un- 
counted millions have affirmed,whence 
it appears that their veneration is 
not a conceit or humbug, but at root 
a faith. How can this be more clear- 
ly illustrated than by quoting the 
following very interesting poem of 
Manuel Carpio, Mexico's favorite, if 
not best modern poet : 


The good Jehovah, dread, magnificent, 
Once chose a people whom he called his own. 
And out of Egypt in a wondrous way 

Our Lady of Guadalupe. 


He brought them in a daik and troublous 


And Moses touched the Red Sea with a rod, 
And the waves parted, offering them a path. 
His people passed, but in the abyss remained 
Egyptian horse and rider who pursued. 
Marched on the flock of Jacob, and the Lord 
Spread over them his all-protecting wings, 
As the lone eagle shields her unfledged young. 
He gave them lands, and victories, and spoils 
Glad nation ! which the Master of the heavens 
Loved as the very apple of his eye. 
But now this people, seeing themselves blessed 
By him whose slightest glance they not de- 

Erected perishable images 
In homage unto strange and pagan gods. 
The Lord in indignation said : "They wished 
To make their Maker jealous with vain gods. 
Bowing in dust the sacrilegious knee 
Before the dumb creation of their hands. 
Well, I will sting their hearts with jealousy, 
Showing myself to all unhappy lands 
Without employing vail or mystery." 
He said it, and his solemn word fulfilled. 
Convoking from the farthest ends of earth 
Nations barbarian and civilized 
The Gaul, the Scandinavian, Roman, Greek, 
And the neglected race of Mexico, 
Whom the Almighty Sovereign loved so well 
The holy truth he would reveal to them 
So that the hard hearts of his people should 
Be softened. Yet his mercy was not full : 
Down from the diamond heavens he bade de- 

The Virgin, who with mother's sorrowing care 
Nursed him in Bethlehem when he was a 

Near to the tremulous Tezcoco lake 
Rises a bare and solitary hill. 
Where never cypress tall nor cedar grows, 
Nor whispering oak; nor cooling fountain 


The waste of herbless rocks and sterile sand 
A barren country 'tis, dry, dusty, sad, 
"Where the vile worm scarce drags its length 


Here is the place where Holy Mary comes 
Down from her home above the azure heavens 
To show herself to Juan, who, comfortless, 
Petitioned for relief from troubles sore. 
Sometimes it chances that a fragrant plant 
In the dense forest blooms unseen, unknown, 
Though bright its virginal buds and rare its 

flowers ; 

So doth the modest daughter of the Lord 
Obscure the moon, the planets, and the stats 
Which all adorn her forehead and her feet, 
When lends she the poor Indian her grace 
In bounty wonderful to all his kind. 
She tenders him the waters and the dev.', 
Prosperity of fruits and animals, 
A heart of sensible humility, 
And help unfailing in his future need. 
The Angel of America resumes 
Her radiant flight. With grateful ear he 

Twice did he wondering kneel, and twice 

He kissed the white feet of the holy maid. 

But did not end God's providence benign : 
The Almighty wished to leave to Mexicans 

VOL. XIII. 13 

His Mother's likeness by his own great hand , 
In token of the love he had for us. 
He took the pencil, saying : " We will make 
In heaven's own image, as we moulded man. 
But what was Adam to my beauteous one ?" 
So saying, drew he with serenest face 
The gentle likeness of the Mother-maid. 
He saw the image, and pronounced it good. 

Since then, with the encircling love of heaven, 
A son she sees in every Mexican. 
Mildly the wandering incense she receives, 
Attending to his vow with human face ; 
For her the teeming vapors yield their rain 
To the green valley and the mountain side, 
Where bend and wave the abundant harvest 


And the green herbs that feed the lazy kine. 
She makes the purifying breezes pass, 
And on the restless and unsounded seas 
She stills the rigor of the hurricane. 
The frighted people see the approach of death 
When the broad earth upon its axis shakes, 
But the wild elements are put to sleep 
With but a smile from her mild countenance. 
And she has moved the adamantine heart 
Of avarice, who saw decrepit age 
Creep like an insect on the dusty earth, 
To ope his close-shut hand, and bless the poor. 
She maketh humbly kneel and kiss the ground 
No less the wise than simple. She the great, 
Dazzled by their own glory, doth advise 
That soon their gaudy pageant shall be o'er, 
And heaven's oblivion shall dissolve their 


How often has the timid, trembling maid 
Upon the verge of ruin sought thy help, 
Shutting her eyes to pleasure and to gold 
At thought of thee, O Maiden pure and meek ! 
Centuries and ages will have vanished by, 
Within their currents bearing kings and men.; 
Great monuments shall fall ; the pyramids 
Of lonely Egypt moulder in decay ; 
But time shall never place its fatal hand 
Upon the image of the Holy Maid, 
Nor on the pious love of Mexico. 

Manuel Carpio, who wrote this, 
his first poetic composition, in 1831, 
when forty years of age, was a scho- 
lar and professor, and in 1824 a con- 
gressman. He made the Bible, we 
are told, his favorite study ; and cer- 
tainly it supplied him with the themes 
for his best poems. But he was not 
the only poet of Mexieo who bore 
earnest witness to the faith of which 
we speak. Padre Manuel Sartorio, 
who wrote about the time of Itur- 
bide, deprecates the idea of prefer- 
ring a capricious doubt respect- 
ing " la Virgen de Guadalupe " to^ 
a constant belief founded in tradi- 
tion. In the following lines the 


Our Lady of Guadalupe. 

nature of his own belief is fully at- 
tested : 

" Of Guadalupe, that fair image pictured 
Unto the venerating eye of Mexico ; 
With stars and light adorned, the figure paint- 

Of a most modest Maiden, full of grace ; 
What image is it ? Copy 'tis divine 
Of the Mother of God. 

And what assures me this ? My tender thought. 
Who the design conceived ? The holiest love. 
Who then portrayed it ? The eternal God." 

In other lines on the same subject, 
Sartorio speaks of the Lady of Gua- 
dalupe as " the purest rose of the ce- 
lestial field," and pays special re- 
spect to her image in the Portal of 
Flowers, of which there is a tradition, 
not vulgar, of having spoken (hay 
tradicion no vulgar de haber habla- 
do) to the Venerable Padre Zapa, in 
order to instruct the Indians, as re- 
lates Cabrera, " Escudo de Armas de 
Mexico, numero 923." Who this 
Cabrera may be we are not aware, 
and cannot affirm that he is identical 
with the great painter Cabrera, whose 
belief in Our Lady of Guadalupe was 
so distinct and positive. 

One other poet of Mexico we shall 
summon to give testimony. It is 
Fray Manuel Navarrete, who wrote 
a series of poems, well-known to his 
countrymen, called " Sad Moments." 
He was also the author of a number 
of tributes to the fame of Carlos IV. 
and Ferdinand VII., and seems to 
have possessed more influence, if not 
more merit as a poet, than Padre Sar- 
torio. From a posthumous volume, 
bearing date of 1823, we take the fol- 
lowing lines, the allusions of which 
sufficiently explain at what time they 
were written: 


From her eternal palace, from the heavens, 

One day descended to America, 

When in its worst affliction, the great Mary, 

Its sorrows to maternally console. 

Behold in Tepcyac how watchfully 

She frustrates the designs of heresy, 

How she extinguishes the fire that flames 
From the far French unto the Indian soil! 
What matter, then, if proud Napoleon, 
With his infernal hosts the world appalling, 
Seeks to possess the land of Mexico ? 
To arms, countrymen : war, war ! 
For the sacred palladium of Guadalupe 
Protects our native land. 

The deity of peace have painters skilled 
Portrayed with bounteous grace and elegance, 
Painting a virgin who with fair white hands 
An offering of tender blossoms bore. 
Thus were their pencils' finest excellences 
A promise and foreshadowing of this, 
The image of Our Lady, which in heaven 
Received its colors. Thus beheld it he, 
The fortunate Indian, at Tepeyac, 
That bare and desolate hill, a miracle, 
That unto day has been perpetuate. 
Now while the world's ablaze with lively war, 
Seems that affrighted peace has taken refuge 
Within the happy households of our land. 

How sadly, how oddly, sounds in 
modern ears this felicitation of a poet 
that peace, which has left the greater 
part of the world, has taken refuge in 
Mexico ! Evidently our Fray Nav- 
arrete did not foresee the results of 
the war begun by the clerical revo- 
lutionist Hidalgo. But whatever 
may have been the political bias of 
this religious writer, he retains the es- 
teem of his countrymen as one of the 
fathers of their fragmentary literature. 

Our last witness is Miguel Cabre- 
ra, the great Mexican painter, whose 
merits have with reason been com- 
pared by an Italian traveller, the 
Count Beltrami, to those of Correggio 
and Murillo. Altogether, as carver, 
architect, and painter, the New World 
has not produced the equal in art of 
this extraordinary man, who wrought 
almost without masters or models, 
without emulation or fitting aid and 
recompense, and whose worth has 
yet to be made well known to the 
continent which he honored. But 
our object now is to lend the weight 
of this preface to the following state- 
ment of the Mexican writer, Seiior 
Orozco y Berra : 

" Cabrera wrote a short treatise dedi- 
cated to his protector Sr. Salinas [Arch- 
bishop of Mexico] with the title of The 

Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 195 

American Marvel, and Conjunction of Rare 
Marvels, observed -with the direction of the 
Rules of the Art of Painting, in the Miracu- 
lous linage \prodigiosa imagen\ of Our Lady 
of Guadalupe of Mexico. It is a small 
book in quarto, printed in 1756 by the 
press of the college of San Ildefonso, 
and containing thirty pages, with dedi- 
cation, approbations, and license at the 
beginning, and the opinions of various 
painters at the end. The reason given 

for this writing was the invitation made 
by the abbot and council of the college 
to the best known painters of Mexico, in 
order that, after examining the painting 
on cloth of Our Lady of Guadalupe, they 
^might declare if it could be the work 
of human hands. Cabrera was one of 
those who joined in the examination, and 
in his book he undertakes to show that 
the Virgin is not painted in a manner arti- 
ficial and human." 


UNDER the term Protestantism, it is 
intended to comprise all persons 
of any religious sect, denomination, 
or church in this country, except Ca- 
tholics, Jews, and Chinese. So nu- 
merous are the divisions and subdi- 
visions that our limits will permit us 
to present only the name of each, 
with perhaps a word as to its distinc- 
tive features, its numbers at different 
periods, and its average annual in- 
crease for a given period. The giv- 
en period thus selected is the twenty- 
five years and upward preceding 
the year 1868; because the statistics 
of all the denominations which are 
accessible, are at present more com- 
plete up to that date than they have 
yet become up to any subsequent 
year, or even up to the present date. 
The statistics are taken entirely from 
Protestant sources, and chiefly from 
official documents published by the 
respective denominations. The final 
results are then brought together, and 
compared with the results presented 
by the Federal census of the popula- 
tion at different periods. 

i. The name "Lutheran" was 
given to the first Protestant denomi- 
nation, in order to designate the fol- 
lowers of Martin Luther. A part 

of the members of the denomination 
in this country have recently chang- 
ed their name to " Evangelical Lu- 
theran Church." 

The statistics, chiefly official, of the 
denomination for a series of years 
have been as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

1823 175 900 40.000 

1833 240 1,000 60,000 

1841 418 1,371 145,408 

1842 424 ' 1,371 166,300 

1850 663 1,604 163,000 

1859 I i I 34 2,017 203,662 

1862 1,419 2,672 284,000 

1863 1,418 2,533 269,985 

1864 1,543 2,765 291,723 

1865..-. 1)627 2,856 312,415 

1866 1,644 2,915 323,825 

1867 1,750 3,112 332,155 

1868 1,792 3,182 350,088 

1869 2,016 3,33 376,567 

1870 2,211 3,537 392,721 

The average annual increase during 
a series of years (ending always with 
1867) has been as follows: 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

In 44 years 36 50 6,640 

In 26 " 51 67 7,182 

In 8 " 77 124 16,061 

2. The German Reformed deno- 
mination made its appearance, soon 
after the Lutheran, in the German 
part of Switzerland, and sprang out 
of a dispute between Ulrich Zwingli 
and Martin Luther concerning the 
import of the words, "This is my 
body," " This is my blood." 

196 Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 

The following table shows their 
growth in this country since 1820 : 


Ministers. Chi 

irches. Members. 
389 14,40 
353 17,189 
416 17,760 
786 58,799 
,045 92,684 

,122 00,691 
,1.14 07,394 
,162 09,258 
,152 10,408 

,181 15,483 







1860. . . 





1866. . . 

1867.. .. 



. . . 521 

The average annual increase du- 
ring a series of years has been as fol- 
lows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

In 47 years 9 16 2.043 

In 7 " 14 15 2,532 

3. The " United Brethren in Christ " 
are the fruits of a " reformation " in 
the German Reformed denomina- 
tion a sort of Methodistical off- 
shoot. The statements of their num- 
bers are as follows : 


Ministers. Societies. Members. 
....500 i, 800 65,000 
789 3,297 91,57 
837 3,445 98,983 
864 3,663 108,122 

The average annual increase du- 
ring twenty-five years has been as 
follows : 

Ministers. Societies. Members. 
In 25 years 13 66 i,3 J 9 

4. The " Moravians," or United 
Brethren, are a distinct denomination 
from the preceding one. As known 
in this country, they descended from a 
colony of dissenters, who were first 
gathered on his estate in Upper Alsa- 
tia, in 1772, by Count Zinzendorf. 

Their numbers have been stated 
as follows : 



1868 6,768 

Their annual average increase of 
communicants has been in twenty- 
five years 26. 

5. The " Dutch Reformed Church," 
as it was known until 1867, when the 
name was changed to " Reformed 

Church in America," is a descendant 
of the Dutch Reformed Church of 


following table shows the 


of this 





Ministers. Churches. Members. 









1862. .. 


44 6 








57 846 







The average annual increase of 
the denomination at different periods 
has been as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

In 47 years 8} 7 1,039 

In 7 " ....10 io i, 060 

6. The Mennonites derive their 
name from Menno Simon, born in 
Friesland A.D. 1495. He was con- 
temporary with Luther, Bucer, and 
Bullinger. He obtained a great num- 
ber of followers. In 1683, the first 
oi them came over to this country, 
others soon followed. 

Their number has been estimat- 
ed as follows : 




Ministers. Churches. Members. 

235 260 30,000 


260 312 37,360 

The average annual increase in 
members in twenty-four years has 
been 380. 

7. The Reformed Mennonite Socie- 
ty was first organized in 1 8 i i . The 
members ascribe their origin to the 
corruptions of the Mennonites. The 
reform extended into several coun* 
ties of Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New 
York, but their doctrines are regarded 
as too rigid for general acceptance. 

In 1860, their numbers were esti- 
mated at about 11,000. 

The average annual increase has 
been about 200. 

Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 

8. The denomination known as 
the " German Evangelical Associa- 
tion" first appeared in one of the 
Middle States, about the year 1800. 

This denomination is now regarded 
as German Methodists, and their 
numbers have been as follows : 


Ministers. Churches. Members. 

83 125 10,000 

140 275 14,000 

360 32,000 

1863. . 

Ministers. Members. 

250 15,000 



....386 47,388 

405 50,000 

473 54,875 

478 58,002 

The average annual increase of the 
denomination in twenty-four years 
has been 1,791. 

9. The " Christians," or " Christian 
Connection," profess not to owe their 
origin to the labors of any one man, 
like the other Protestant sects. They 
rose almost simultaneously in differ- 
ent and remote parts of this country, 
without knowledge of each other's 

The new organizations of this de- 
nomination held their twenty-third 
annual convention in June, 1868. 
The number of organizations was 
one hundred and sixty. 

The numbers of the denomination 
have been stated as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

1844 2,000 1,500 325,000 

1866 3,000 5,000 500,000 

The average annual increase of 
members has been as follows : 

In 22 years 7,594 members. 

The " Church of God," as it exists 
by that name in the United States, 
is a religious community, who profess 
to have come out from all human 
and unscriptural organizations, and 
to have fallen back upon original 
grounds, and who wish, therefore, to 
be known and called by no other 
distinctive name. 

This denomination exists in Ohio 
and Pennsylvania and the Western 
States, and their numbers have been 
stated as follows : 

The average annual increase has 
been as 

In 23 years 10 


ii. The denominations thus far 
noticed are chiefly of German origin. 
The next class contains those of Scot- 
tish origin. Among these the Pres- 
byterian holds the first place in age 
and numbers. The first organiza- 
tion here was made in 1706, and 
known as the Presbytery of Phila- 
delphia. Their first synod was con- 
vened September 17, 1718. 

The first General Assembly met in 
1789, and a more efficient and exten- 
sive development ensued. In 1810, 
a division arose, and the formation 
of the " Cumberland Presbyterian " 
organization. But the most exten- 
sive division took place in 1838, by 
which a body was organized and 
known as the " New School," while 
those who remained were designated 
as " Old School "-Presbyterians. The 
split thus made has continued for 
thirty years, but is now ostensibly re- 
moved by measures of reunion. 

The statistics of the " Old School " 
Presbyterians for the year 1863 first 
show the effect of the separation of 
the Southern portion during the war. 
The report of numbers has been as 
follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

1843 *,434 2,9 2 i59i'37 

1850 1,860 2,512 200,830 

1860 2,577 3,487 279,630 

1861 2,767 3,684 300,874 

1863 2205 2,541 227,575 

1865 2,201 2,629 232,450 

1866 2,294 2,608 239,306 

1867 2,302 2,622 246,330 

1868 2,330 2,737 252,555 

1869 2,381 2,740 258,903 

'1870 4,234 446,561 

The statistics of the Southern divi- 
sion are given as follows : 

* Old and New School united. 

198 Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 


Ministers. Churches. Members. 

8n 1,277 83.821 

850 i,39 80,532 

837 1,298 76.949 

840 ',469 82,014 

The average annual increase of 
the denomination previous to the di- 
vision caused by opposite views on 
political questions was as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 18 years 74 89 7,874 

The average annual increase of 
the whole denomination (North and 
South) to 1868 has been as follows: 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 25 years 70 78 6.958 

12. The division of the Presbyte- 
rian Church was entirely consummat- 
ed in 1840, by the meeting of a Ge- 
neral Assembly representing the sece- 
ders, or " New School." 

Subsequently, the loss of the South- 
ern churches by the " Old School " 
denomination, and the increase of the 
anti-slavery sentiment in the North- 
ern portion, suggested a reunion with 
the " New School " soon after the 
outbreak of the recent war. At 
length, in 1868, one General Assem- 
bly met in Albany, while the other 
was in session in Harrisburg, Pa. A 
plan of union was mutually prepared, 
which, on being approved by the local 
presbyteries, went into effect in 1870. 

The statistics of the " New School " 
Presbyterians have been as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 








. .I,6l6 





161 538 


I 8OO 


...1848 : 



The average annual increase in 
twenty-eight years has been as fol- 
lows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 28 years 24 J0 2,167 

13. The " General Synod of the 
Reformed Presbyterian Church " is 

the title of a denomination which 
claims to be a direct descendant of 
the " Reformed Presbyterian Church " 
of Scotland. 

The statements of the numbers of 
this denomination have been as fol- 
lows : 



Ministers. Churches. Members. 
..... 24 44 4,S< 

...... 56 7,000 

...... 56 9 l 





The average annual increase in 
twenty-five years has been as fol- 
lows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 25 years i% 2 153 

14. The " Synod of Reformed Pres- 
byterians " was formed by certain 
persons who separated from the Re- 
formed Presbyterians (General Synod), 
principally on the ground that they 
were of opinion that the constitution 
and government of the United States 
are essentially infidel and immoral. 
The separation took place in 1833. 

The few statements relative to the 
numbers of this denomination have 
been as follows : 


Ministers. Churches. Members. 

59 78 6,650 

60 6,000 

The average annual decrease dur- 
ing the last half-dozen years has 
been 108. 

15. Another division is the "Asso- 
ciate Presbyterian Church." This is 
located chiefly in the Middle and 
Western States. The members of 
the denomination claim to be a 
branch of the Church of Scotland. 

In 1858, the Associate Reformed 
and the Associate churches reunited 
under the name of " United Presby- 
terian Church in North America." 

The statistics of the Associate 
Presbyterian denomination after 1859 
are merged in those of the United 

Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 


Presbyterians, and have been as fol- 
lows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 




66 9 



65 ,624 

In 6 years 19 



The average annual increase of 
the denomination during the six years 
subsequent to the union, ending in 
1867, has been as follows : 



The statistics of the " Associate 
Synod of North America" above- 
mentioned have been as follows : 


1 6. Another order of Presbyterians 
in this country is known as the " As- 
sociate Reformed Church." Since 
1822, the denomination has existed 
in three independent divisions, the 
Northern, the Western, and the South- 
ern. These divisions are quite small 
in numbers, and their growth has 
been insignificant. They have been 
stated as follows : 

The Associate Reformed Synod of 
New York in 1843 had 34 ministers 
and 43 congregations. In 1867, it 
had 1 6 ministers and 1,631 members. 

The Associate Reformed Synod of 
the South in 1843 had 25 ministers 
and 40 congregations ; and in 1867, 
estimated at 1,500 members. 

The Associate Synod of North 
America in 1867 had n ministers 
and 778 members. 

The Free Presbyterian Synod, con- 
sisting, in 1861, of 41 ministers and 
4,000 members, had previously sepa- 
rated from the New School Presby- 
terian denomination, but was reunit- 
ed and absorbed after the outbreak 
of the recent war. 

17. The Independent Presbyterian 
Church in South and North Carolina 
consisted, in 1861, of 4 ministers and 
about 1,000 members. 
) 1 8. Another denomination of Pres- 
byterians remains to be noticed. It 
is called the " Cumberland Presby- 
terians " and first appeared in Ken- 
tucky in the year 1800. In 1829, there 
were four synods and the first Gene- 
ral Assembly of the denomination 
was held. During the recent war 
the Southern churches were not re- 
ported in the Assembly, and there are 
no complete statistics of that period. 

The numbers of the denomination 
have been stated as follows : 

Synods. Presby. Min. Conversions. 

....i 46 2,718 

1 . 80 3.305 

114 4,006 



1826 1 

1827 i 

1833 6 32 

1843 13 57 


1860 927 

1867 1,000 

1870 1,116 

Churches. Members. 
i.iSS 84,249 

estimated 100.000 

The average annual increase in 
55 years, from 1812 to 1867, has been 

19. Another large class of deno- 
minations is known by the name of 
" Baptists." They are divided in- 
to ten separate sects : Baptists ; Free- 
Will Baptists ; Seventh-Day Baptists ; 
German Baptists or Brethren; Ger- 
man Seventh- Day Baptists ; Free 
Communion Baptists ; Old School 
Baptists ; Six- Principle Baptists ; Riv- 
er Brethren ; Disciples of Christ, or 

An estimate of the numbers of the 
regular Baptists at different periods, 
made by themselves, presents the 
following results : 

Ministers. Churches. Communicants. 









,094 806 


2OO Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 

The average annual increase of 
the denomination during twenty-five 
years has been as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 25 years 94 158 13,796 

20. The " Free-will Baptist Connec- 
tion " made its first organized ap- 
pearance in this country in 1780. In 
1827, a General Conference was orga- 
nized to represent the whole connec- 
tion. The statements of their num- 
bers have been as follows : 


Ministers. Chu 
























1,063 * 















The average annual increase of 
the denomination during the last 
twenty-five years has been as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 25 years 8 9 204 

21. The "Seventh-Day Baptists" 
are so-called because they differ from 
all other Protestant denominations in 
their views of the Sabbath. They 
have gradually spread in the Eastern, 
the Central, and some Northwestern 
and Southern States. 

Little is known of their numbers, 
but they have been stated as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Communicants. 




6 ooo 

The annual average increase of 
the denomination has been as fol- 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 25 years 1% % 41 

22. There is a denomination of 
German Baptists which has assumed 
for itself the name of " Brethren," 

but they are commonly called " Dun- 
kers " or " Tunkers " to distinguish 
them from the Mennonists. They 
have also been called "Tumblers" 
from the manner in which they per- 
form baptism, which is by putting the 
person head forward under water 
(while kneeling), so as to resemble 
the motion of the body in the act 
of tumbling. 

In 1843, their larger congregations 
contained from two to three hundred 
members ; but little was then known 
among themselves of their numbers. 
Their subsequent statistics have been 
as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 



1 60 



A membership of 20,000 has been 
stated for this denomination during 
the last half-dozen years without in- 
crease or diminution. 

23. The " German Seventh-Day 
Baptists " first made their appear- 
ance in Germany in 1694. From 
these, after their organization in the 
United States, sprang the Seventh- 
Day branch. Their numbers in 1860 
were estimated at : 

Ministers. Members. 

1860 187 1,800 

24. A society designated as" Free- 
Communion Baptists " arose in 1858 
in McDonough Co., Illinois, and or- 
ganized a quarterly meeting confer- 
ence. At the quarterly meeting in 
1859, one preacher, four licentiates, 
a few small churches, and 104 mem- 
bers were reported. 

25. The " Old School," or Anti- 
mission, Baptists were formerly a por- 
tion of the regular Baptists, above- 
mentioned. They are opposed to 
the academical or theological educa- 
tion of their ministers, and to Bible, 
missionary, and all other voluntary 
societies of like nature. 

Statistics of Protestantism in tJie United States. 201 

Their numbers have been stated as 
follows : 

1862. . 


Ministers. Churches. Members. 




1, 800 


The average annual increase of this 
denomination during seven years by 
these statements has been 6,143. 

25. The denomination called " Six- 
Principle Baptists " originated in 
Rhode Island as early as 1665. They 
are distinguished from other Baptists 
by deducing their peculiarities from 
the first three verses of the sixth chap- 
ter of Hebrews. 

Their numbers have been estimat- 
ed as follows : 


Ministers. Churches. Members. 
16 18 3,000 

Recent statements put their num- 
bers about the same, and there pro- 
bably has been no important increase. 

27. The "River Brethren" is an 
organization in Pennsylvania and 
other states, so-called to distinguish 
them from the German Baptists or 
Brethren above-mentioned. 

Their meetings are generally held 
in dwelling-houses, or barns fitted 
up with seats; in other respects, they 
are similar to the German Brethren. 

Their numbers have been stated as 
follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
1860 65 80 7,000 

More recent statements make no 
important alteration in these num- 

28. The " Disciples of Christ," or, 
as the denomination is often called, 
" Baptists," " Reformed Baptists," 
" Reformers," " Campbellites," etc., 
originated in the early part of the 
present century. The first advocates 
were Thomas and Alexander Camp- 
bell in Pennsylvania. 

The statements of their numbers 
have been as follows : 





Ministers. Churches. Members. 

. 848 


i, 800 

The average annual increase, ac- 
cording to these statements, has been 
in twenty-one years, in members, 

29. The first appearance of the 
Puritans, since known as " Congre- 
gationalists," was in the early part 
of Queen Elizabeth's reign. The 
first church formed upon Congrega- 
tional principles was that established 
by Robert Browne in 1583. The de- 
nomination is the largest in New Eng- 
land, and exists in small bodies in a 
number of the states. 

Their numbers are stated to be as 
follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 









1858 . . . . 











---2,594 . 



















The average annual increase of 
this denomination during the last 
twenty-five years has been as fol- 
lows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 
In 25 years 73 61 4,734 

30. The denomination of " Unita- 
rians " arose in this country from a 
division of opinion among Congre- 
gationalists on the divinity of Christ. 
Their statistics contain no report of 
the membership. All who are re- 
spectable and orderly members of the 
society are admitted to the sacra- 
ments if they desire to be. 

Their numbers for a series of years 
have been estimated at 30,000. 

2O2 Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 

Ministers. Societies. Members. 







ing the last nine years has been as 
follows : 





The average annual increase has 
been estimated for a series of forty 
or more years at about one per cent., 
or 300. 

31. The denomination of " Uni- 
versalists " first made its appearance 
in England about 1750. In Glou- 
cester, Massachusetts, the first Uni- 
versalist society was formed in 1779. 
No statistics of the denomination 
contain the " membership " like those 
of other denominations, as to believe 
is to become a member. The active 
members have been estimated in 
1850 at 60,000, although the popu- 
lation among which Universalism 
exists to the exclusion of other deno- 
minations may be ten tinies greater. 

33. Another large class of deno- 
minations is embraced under the ge- 
neral term " Methodism." The first 
denomination, out of which all the 
others have sprung, was an offshoot 
of the Church of England, known 
in this country as the Protestant Epis- 
copal Church. 

The statistics of the denomination 
have been as follows : 








1833 2,400 

1843 4,286 

1850 3,716 

1859 6,503 

Ministers. Societies. Members. 


1865* . 

. .700 

68 1 








i, 160 







629 ,660* 


1,032, i84t 
1,255, "5 i 

The average annual increase since 

1869 520 844 the separation of the South, and dur- 

ing seventeen years, has been 30,377. 
Since the close of the war conferen- 
ces have been organized in eight of 
the Southern states, and 100,000 
members gained from the church 

34. A secession took place in 1830 
from the Methodists, and the persons 
who composed it assumed the name 
of the " Methodist Protestant Church." 

Its statistics have been as follows : 

Travelling preachers. Members. 

154,118 1830 83 5,000 

161,224 1842 53,875 

178,102 1850 740 64,219 

194,692 1854 70,018 

200,000 1858 2,000 Q0,000 

The average annual increase dur- In 1866, a convention was held 

Average annual increase in twenty 
years, 1,000. 

32. The Protestant Episcopal 
Church is a well-known offshoot of 
the church established by the British 
Parliament in England. 

Their numbers and growth have 
been as follows : 

Ministers. Churches. Members. 

1859 2.030 

1862 2,270 

1863 1,772 

1864 1,895 

1865 2,467 

1866 2,530 

1867 2,600 

1868 2,736 

1869 2,763 



* Incomplete. 

t Southern States not reported. 

* Separation of South in 1845. 
t Centenary year. 

Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 203 

in Cincinnati to unite the Methodist 
Protestants, the Wesleyan Connection, 
the Free Methodists, the Primitive Me- 
thodists, and some independent Me- 
thodist congregations, under the name 
of the " Methodist Church." The un- 
ion was joined by few save the North- 
ern conferences of the Methodist 
Protestant body, who now compose 
the Methodist Church; the South- 
ern conferences retain the original 
name of .Methodist Protestant. Their 
numbers in 1867 were estimated at 
50,000; in 1869, they were estimat- 
ed at 72,000. 

There has been no actual increase 
in those now indicated by this name 
in twenty^five years preceding 1868. 

35. The " Methodist Church " is 
composed of the Northern conferen- 
ces of the Methodist Protestant 
Church which, in attempting to form 
a union with others in 1866, caused 
a split among themselves. Their re- 
port, made in 1867, states as follows : 






This is strictly an increase of the 
Methodist Protestants, but appears 
under a new name. It is an average 
annual increase of 2,000. 

36. Out of the original separation 
of the Methodist Protestants from 
the Methodist Episcopal another de- 
nomination sprang up, under the 
name of the "True Wesleyan Me- 

The denomination has increased 
very slowly since its organization, as 
appears by the following statements : 










. ..220 

Average annual increase in twen- 
ty-five years, 200. 

37. The African Methodist Epis- 

copal Church owes its origin to the 
prejudice against the colored mem- 
bers and attendants of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church. In the early days 
of the latter, this prejudice was so 
deep that the colored persons were 
not unfrequently pulled from their 
knees while at prayer in the church, 
and ordered to the back seats. 

This denomination has greatly in- 
creased by the addition of emanci- 
pated slaves. Its statistics are as 
follows : 

1842 ....................... 

i860 ....................... - 

1864 ...................... 


1867 ...................... 1,500 






The average annual increase in 
twenty-five years has been 7,500. 

38. The operation of the same 
prejudice against color in New York 
gave rise to the " Zion African Me- 
thodist Episcopal Church." Its sta- 
tistics show a large increase recently 
at the South, and are as follows : 










The average annual increase of 
the denomination has been 2,008. 

39. The " Methodist Episcopal 
Church, South," is the second largest 
body of Methodists in the United 
States. It arose from a division of 
the Methodist Episcopal Church, in 
accordance with resolutions of the 
General Conference in 1844. 

The membership of this denomi- 
nation has been reduced by the war, 
by the invasion of its territory by 
the Northern Methodist Episcopal, 
and by the African and Zion church- 
es. Its statistics are as follows: 

204 Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 



. . . 1,500 


1869 presents no important change. 



The average annual increase in 
seventeen years has been 4,087. 

40. The " Free Methodist Church " 
originated in 1859, and consisted of 
a few congregations in New York 
and other Northern states. Its sta- 
tistics have been as follows : 







The average annual increase in 
two years has been 617. 

41. The " Western Primitive Me- 
thodist Church " held its twenty-se- 
cond annual conference in New Dig- 
gings, Wisconsin, 1866. The subject 
of union with other non-episcopal 
bodies was favorably considered. 
Their numbers were in 1865 as fol- 
lows: Preachers, 20; members, 2,000. 

42. The " Independent Methodist 
Church" organized its first congre- 
gation in New York City in 1860. 
The third annual session of its con- 
ference was held in 1864, and a 
movement made toward union with 
other non-episcopal bodies. 

43. The " Friends," or " Quakers," 
arose in England about 1647, under 
the preaching of Mr. George Fox. 
The numbers of this denomination 
are estimated at 100,000, comprised 
in eight yearly meetings. 

44. A division took place during 
the first quarter of the present cen- 
tury among the Friends, under Mr. 
Elias Hicks. A distinct and inde- 
pendent association was made under 
his name. Their numbers are esti- 
mated at 40,000. 

45. The " Shakers," or United So- 
ciety of Believers, are a small deno- 
mination which first made its ap- 
pearance in this country in 1776. 

Their statistics have been as fol- 
lows : 

Preachers. M embers. 

1828 45 4,5oo 

1860 4,7i3 

They are found in Maine, Massa- 
chusetts, New Hampshire, New York, 
Kentucky, Connecticut. 

46. The " Adventists," or " Second 
Adventists," owe their rise in the 
United States to Mr. Wm. Miller,. of 
Low Hampton, New York. 

In 1859, they were estimated to 
comprise about 18,000 persons, and 
in 1867 about 30,000, exclusive of 
members of other denominations. 
Average annual increase in eight 
years, 1,500. 

47. The " New Church," or " Swe- 
denborgians," accept as their rule of 
faith and discipline the Holy Scrip- 
tures as interpreted by Mr. Emanuel 

Their numbers in the United States 
have been estimated as follows : 







Average annual increase in twelve 
years, 166. 

48. Modern " Spiritualism " made 
its appearance in Western New York 
about twenty years ago. It came at 
first in the form of rappings, knock- 
ings, table-tippings, and other noisy 
demonstrations, for the purpose of at- 
tracting general attention. The be- 
lievers held conventions and public 
meetings, but adopted no form or plan 
of organization. Great numbers in 
all denominations are supposed to ap- 
prove more or less of their views; 
but the number of separate public 
adherents is estimated at 165,000. 

49. The " Mormon Church," or 
" Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- 
Day Saints," was first organized in 
the town of Manchester, New York, 
on April 6, 1830, by Mr. Joseph 
Smith, of Vermont. The fortunes 

Statistics of Protestantism in the United States. 705 

of the church thus started have been 
variable in New York, Ohio, Missou- 
ri, and Illinois, until persecution has 
compelled her to withdraw to the 
wilderness of Utah. Their number 
is stated to be 60,000. The average 
annual increase in twenty-five years, 

50. Four miles from Oneida, Madi- 
son County, New York, is located an 
organized community the members 
of which call themselves " Christian 
Perfectionists." It was started by 
Mr. John F. Noyes, a native of Brat- 
tleboro, Vermont, 

They have now a community in 
Oneida, Wallingford, Conn., New 
Haven, Conn., and New York, which 
consisted of 255 members in 1867. 
This is an average annual increase 
of 10. 

51. The "Catholic Apostolic 
Church," or " Irvingites," originated 
from the views of Mr. Edward Irving, 
preached in London in 1830. 

There are about a half-dozen of 
these congregations in this country, 
estimated to contain 250 members. 

A number of small nuclei of per- 
haps future denominations exists in 
different states, which it is unnecessa- 
ry to mention. 

A recapitulation of the preceding 
statistics presents the following re- 
sults : 

Church Average 

Members Annual 

in Increase 

1867. inzsy'rs. 

i.Lutherans 332,155 7,182 

2. German Reformed 110,408 3.431 

3. United Brethren 97,983 i,3'9 

4. Moravians 6,655 26 

5. Dutch Reformed 57,846 1,261 

6. Mennonites 39,n 380 

7. Reformed Mennonites.... 11,000 200 

8. Evangelical Association.. 58,002 1,791 

9. Christian Connection 500,000 7,954 

10. Church of God 32,000 960 

11. O. S. Presbyterians 246,350 6,958 

12. N.S.Presbyterians 161,538 2,167 

13. Reformed Presbyterians 

(General Synod) 8,324 153 

14. Synod of Reformed Pres- 

byterians 6,000 

ij. Associate and United 

Presbyterians 63,489 1,000 





Associate Keformed Pres- 
byterians 3.909 

Free Presbyterians 1,000 

Cumberland Presbytr'ns. 100,000 

Baptists 1,094,806 

Free-Will Baptists 59,"i 

Seventh-Day Baptists 7,038 

Dunkers 20,000 

German Seventh - Day 

Baptists i, 800 

Free-Commun. Baptists.. 104 

Anti-Mission Baptists 105,000 

Six-Principle Baptists 3,000 

River Brethren 7,000 

Disciples (Campbellites). . 300,000 

Congregationalists 278,362 

Unitarians 30,000 

Universalists 80,000 

Protestant Episcopal 194.692 

Methodist Episcopal 1,146,081 

Methodist Protestant 50,000 

Methodist Church 50,000 

True Wesleyan 25,000 

African Methodist 200,000 

Zion African Methodist./ 60,000 
Methodist Epis. (South). . 535,040 

Free Methodist 4,889 

Western Primitive Me- 
thodist 2.000 

Independent Methodists. 800 

Friends, or Quakers 100,000 

Hicksites 40,000 

Shakers 4,7'3 

Adventists 30,000 

Swedenborgians 5,o 

Spiritualism 165,000 

Mormon Church 60,000 

Christian Perfectionists.. 255 

Catholic Apost. Church.. 250 

Total 6,396,110 




in 25 y'rs. 
























Thus the whole number of mem- 
bers of Protestant churches in the 
United States in 1867 was 6,396,110. 
The average annual increase of this 
membership during the preceding 
twenty-five years has been 134,802. 

The population of the United 
States according to the usual census 
and that of the Bureau of Statistics 
for 1867, has been as follows : 

1840 17,069,453 

1850 23,191,876 

1860 31,443.322 

1867 36.743,198 

1870 incomplete officially. 

The average annual increase in 
twenty-seven years has been 728,509. 

If we deduct from the population 
of the United States in 1867 the 
number of persons who were mem- 


On a Great Plagiarist, 

bers of Protestant churches, there 
will remain 30,347,088 persons in 
the United States in 1867 who were 
not members of Protestant churches, 
who made no public profession of 
faith in their doctrines, and who did 
not partake of their sacraments. 

If we suppose the church-member- 
ship of Protestant denominations to 
increase at the same average annual 
rate during the next thirty - three 
years, until the year 1900, that in- 
crease will amount to 4,448,466. If 
this increase is added to the number 
of church-members in 1867, the mem- 
bership of all the Protestant churches 
in the year 1900 will be 10,844,576. 

If we suppose the population of 
the United States to increase in the 
same average annual rate during the 
next thirty-three years, until the year 

1900, that increase will amount to 
24,040,797. This amount added 
to the population of 1867 will make 
the population in 1900 reach the 
number 60,784,945, of whom 49,- 
940,419 will not be members of 
any Protestant church, nor make a 
public profession of faith in their doc- 
trines, nor partake of their sacra- 

It may be said that the average 
annual increase of Protestantism for 
twenty-five years subsequent to 1867 
will be numerically greater than for 
the previous twenty-five years. So will 
also be numerically larger the aver- 
age annual increase of the popula- 
tion for a like period, but the relative 
proportion of the denominations to 
the population would remain un- 


PHCEBUS drew back with just disdain 
The wreath : the Delphic Temple frowned : 

The suppliant fled to Hermes' fane, 
That stood on lower, wealthier ground. 

The Thief-God spake, with smile star-bright : 

" Go thou where luckier poets browse, 
The pastures of the Lord of Light, 
And do what I did with his cows." * 


* He stole, killed, and ate the whole of Apollo's herd, before he was a day old ! See Homer's 
Hymn to Mercury, 

Mary Benedicta. 



WE were at school together. We 
little dreamed, either of us, in those 
mischief-loving days of frolic and fun, 
that she was one day to be a saint, 
and that I would write her story. 

Yet look well at the face. Is there 
not something like a promise of 
sainthood on the pure, white brow ? 
And the eyes, blue-gray Irish eyes, 
with the long, dark lashes throwing 
a shadow underneath, " diamonds 
put in with dirty fingers," have they 
not a spiritual outlook that speaks to 
you with a promise a revelation of 
some vision or growth of some beau- 
ty beyond what meets your gaze ? 
Yet, though it seems so clear in the 
retrospect, this prophetic side of her 
beauty, I own it, never struck me 

I am going to tell her story sim- 
ply, with strict accuracy as to the 
traits of her character the facts of 
her life and her death. I shall tell the 
bad with the good, neither striving to 
varnish her faults nor to heighten, by 
any dramatic coloring, the beautiful 
reality of her virtues. The story is 
one calculated, it seems to me, to be 
a light and a lesson to many. The 
very faults and follies, the strange 
beginning, so unlike the end, all taken 
as parts of a whole in the true expe- 
rience of a soul, contain a teaching 
whose sole eloquence must be its 
truth and its simplicity. 

I said we were at school together, 
but, though in the same convent, we 
were not in the same class. Mary 
(this was her real Christian name) was 
a few years older than I. Her ca- 
reer at this time was one of the wildest 
that ever a school-girl lived through. 
High-spirited, reckless, setting all 

rules at defiance, she was the tor- 
ment of her mistresses and the delight 
of her companions. With the latter, 
her good-nature and good temper 
carried her serenely above all the 
little malices and jealousies that dis- 
play themselves in that miniature 
world, a school; and, at the same 
time, her spirit of independence, 
while it was constantly getting her 
into " scrapes," was so redeemed by 
genuine abhorrence of everything ap- 
proaching to meanness or deceit that 
it did not prevent her being a univer- 
sal favorite with the nuns. One in 
particular, who from her rigorous 
disciplinarianism was the terror of us 
all, was even less proof than the 
others against the indomitable sweet 
temper and lovableness of her rebel- 
lious pupil. They were in a state of 
permanent warfare, but occasionally, 
after a hot skirmish carried on before 
the public, viz., the second class, 
Mother Benedicta would take the 
rebel aside, and try privately to coax 
her into a semblance of apology, or 
mayhap a promise of amendment. 
Sometimes she succeeded, for the re- 
fractory young lady was always more 
amenable to caresses than to threats, 
and was, besides, notwithstanding the 
war footing on which they stood, 
very fondly attached to Mother Ben- 
edicta, but she never pledged herself 
unconditionally. This was a great 
grievance with the mistress. She 
used to argue, and threaten, and 
plead by the hour, in order to in- 
duce Mary to give her " word of 
honor," as the phrase was amongst 
us, that she would observe such and 
such a prohibition, or obey such and 
such a rule silence was the chronic 


Mary Benedicta. 

casus belli but all to no pur- 

" No, sister, I promise you to try ; 
but I won't promise to do or not to 
do," she would answer, undefiantly, 
but quite resolutely. 

It was a common thing for Mother 
Benedicta to say, after one of these 
conferences which ended, as usual, 
in the cautious, " I'll try, sister," 
that, if she could once get Mary to 
promise her outright to mend her 
ways, she would never take any more 
trouble about her. " If she pledged 
her word of honor to be a saint, I be- 
lieve she would keep it," observed the 
nun, with a sigh. 

I mention this little incident ad- 
visedly, for, though at the time we, 
in our wisdom, thought it must be 
pure perversity on the part of our 
mistress that made her so pursue 
Mary on the subject, considering 
that we were all in the habit .of 
pledging our words of honor any given 
number of times a week with no par- 
ticular result, I lived to see that in 
this individual instance she was guid- 
ed by prophetic insight. 

She never succeeded, however, in 
inducing Mary to commit herself 
during the four years that she was 
under her charge. It was war to the 
end ; not to the bitter end, for the strife 
did not weaken, nay, it probably 
strengthened the enduring attach- 
ment that had sprung up between 
them. By way of sealing irrevoca- 
bly and publicly this attachment on 
her side, Mary added the nun's name 
to her own, and even after she left 
school she continued to sign herself 
Mary Benedicta. When the time 
came round for frequenting the sa- 
craments, it was the sure signal for a 
quarrel between the two belligerents. 
There was no plea or stratagem that 
Mary would not have recourse to in 
order to avoid going to confession. 
Yet withal she had a reputation in the 

school for piety a queer, impulsive 
sort of piety peculiar to herself, that 
came by fits and starts. We had an 
unaccountable belief in the efficacy of 
her prayers, and in any difficulty she 
was one of those habitually appealed 
to to pray us out of it ; not, indeed , 
that we were actuated by any precise 
view as to the spiritual quality of the 
prayers, only impressed vaguely by 
her general character, that whatever 
she did she put her heart in and did 
thoroughly. Mother Benedicta used 
to say that her devotion to the Bless- 
ed Sacrament would save her. But 
this devotion consisted, as far as we 
could see, in an enthusiastic love for 
Benediction; and as Mary was pas- 
sionately fond of music, and confess- 
ed a weakness for effective ceremonial, 
Mother Benedicta herself occasional- 
ly had misgivings as to how much of 
the devotion went to the object of 
the ceremony and how much to iis 
accessories, the lights, the music, and 
the incense. At any rate, once over, 
it exercised no apparent control over 
her life. The rules of the school she 
systematically ignored; the rule of 
silence she looked upon with special 
contempt as a bondage fit for fools, 
but unworthy of rational human be- 
ings. To the last day of her sojourn 
in the school, she practically illus- 
trated the opinion that speech was of 
gold and silence of brass, and left it 
with the reputation of being the most 
indefatigable talker ; the most unruly 
and untidy subject, but the sweetest 
nature that ever tried the patience and 
won the hearts of the community. 

When she was about eighteen, her 
father sent her to the Sacre Coeur, in 
Paris, to complete her education, 
which, in spite of considerable ex- 
pense on his part, and masters with- 
out end, was at this advanced period 
in a sadly retrograde state, the little 
she had learned at school in Ireland 
having been assiduously forgotten in 

Mary Bencdicta. 


the course of a year's anarchical 
holiday, when reading of every sort 
and even her favorite music were set 
aside for the more congenial pastimes 
ot dancing, and skating, and flying 
across country after the hounds. 

I was then living in Paris, and 
Mary was placed under my mother's 
wing. We went to see her on the 
Jours de Parloir, and she came to us 
on the Jours de Sortie. But it did 
not last long. As might have been ex- 
pected, the sudden change from a life 
of excitement and constant out-door 
exercise to one of seclusion and se- 
dentary habits proved too trying to 
her health, and after a few months 
the medical man of the convent de- 
clared that he was not prepared to 
accept the responsibility of taking 
charge of her, and strongly advised 
that she should be sent home. 

We communicated this intelligence 
to her father, begging at the same 
time that before he came to remove 
her she might be allowed to spend 
a month with us. The request was 
granted and Mary came to stay with 

That we might lose as little as pos- 
sible of each other's company while 
we were together, she shared my 
room. We spent the mornings at 
home ; I studying or taking my les- 
sons, she reading, or lolling about 
the room, watching the clock, and 
longing for the master to go and set 
me free, that we might go out. 

My mother, who only in a lesser 
degree shared my affection for Mary, 
and was anxious to make her visit as 
pleasant as possible, took her about 
to all the places best worth seeing 
in the city the picture-galleries, the 
palaces, the museums, and- the 
churches. The latter, though many 
of them, even as works of art, were 
amongst the most interesting monu- 
ments for a stranger, Mary seemed 
thoroughly indifferent to. When 

VOL. XIII. 14 

we entered one, instead of kneeling 
a moment before the sanctuary, as 
any Catholic does from mere force 
of habit and impulse, she would 
just make the necessary genuflex- 
i<$n, and, without waiting for us, 
hurry on round the building, exam- 
ine the pictures and the stained glass, 
and then go out with as little delay 
as might be. This did not strike 
my mother, who was apt to remain 
all the time at her prayers, while I 
walked about doing the honors of 
the church to Mary; but it struck 
me, and it pained and puzzled me. 

She was too innately honest to at- 
tempt the shadow of prevarication 
or pose even in her attitude, and her 
haste in despatching the inspection 
of every church we entered was so 
undisguised that I saw she did not 
care whether I noticed it or not. 
Once, on coming out of the little 
church of St. Genevieve, one of the 
loveliest shrines ever raised to the 
worship of God by the genius of 
man, I said rather sharply to her, 
for she had beaten a more precipi- 
tate retreat than Usual, and cut short 
my mother's devotions at the tomb 
of the saint : 

" Mary," I said, " one really would 
think the devil was at your heels the 
moment you enter a church, you are 
in such a violent hurry to get out of 

She laughed, not mockingly, with 
a sort of half-ashamed expression, 
and turning her pure, full eyes on 

" I hate to stay anywhere under 
false appearances," she said, " and I 
always feel such a hypocrite kneeling 
before the Blessed Sacrament ! I feel 
as if I would choke if I stay there 
over five minutes." 

I felt shocked, and I suppose I 
looked it. 

" Don't look at me as if I were 
possessed of the devil," she said, still 


Mary Benedicta. 

laughing, though there was a touch 
of sadness, it struck me, in her voice 
and face. " I mean to be convert- 
ed by-and-by, and mend my ways ; 
but meantime let me have my fun, 
and, above all, don't preach to 

" I don't feel the least inclined," I 

" I suppose you think I'm gone be- 
yond it. Well, you can pray for me. 
I'm not gone beyond the reach of 
that !" 

This was the only serious conver- 
sation, if it deserves the name, that 
we had during the first week of her 
visit. She enjoyed herself thoroughly, 
throwing all the zest of her earnest 
nature into everything. The people 
and their odd French ways, the shops 
and their exquisite wares, the opera, 
the gay Bois with the brilliant throng 
of fashion that crowded round the 
lake every day at the hour of prome- 
nade the novelty of the scene and 
the place altogether enchanted her, 
and there was something quite re- 
freshing in the spirit of enjoyment 
she threw into it all. 

One evening, after a long day of 
sight-seeing, we were invited by a 
friend of hers to dine at the table 
d'hote of the Louvre. It was the 
grande nouveaute" just then, and 
Mary was consequently wild to see 
it. We went, and during dinner the 
admiration excited by her beauty was 
so glaringly expressed by the persist- 
ent stare of every eye within range 
of her at the table that my mother 
was provoked at having brought her 
and exposed her to such an ordeal. 
But Mary herself was blissfully un- 
conscious of the effect she was pro- 
ducing; indeed, it would hardly be 
an exaggeration to say she was un- 
conscious of the cause. Certainly, 
no woman ever had less internal 
perception or outward complacency 
in her beauty than she had. This 

indifference amounted to a fault, for 
it pervaded her habits of dress, which 
were very untidy, and betokened a 
total disregard of personal appear- 
ance. The old fault that had been 
one of Mother Benedicta's standing 
grievances was as strong as ever, 
and it was all I could do to get her 
to put on her clothes straight, and to 
tie her bonnet under her chin in- 
stead of under her ear, when she 
came out with us. 

But to return to the Louvre. It 
had been settled that after dinner we 
should walk across to the Palais 
Royal, and let Mary see the dia- 
mond shops illuminated, and all the 
other wonderful shops; but during 
dinner she overheard some one say- 
ing that the Emperor and Empress 
were to be at the Grand Opera that 
night. Her first impulse was to take 
a box and go there. But my mother 
objected that it was Saturday, the 
opera was never over before mid- 
night, and consequently we could 
not be home and in bed before one 
o'clock on Sunday morning. 

With evident disappointment, but, 
as usual, with the sweetest good tem- 
per, Mary gave way. Her friend then 
proposed that, before going to the 
Palais Royal, we should walk on to 
the Rue Lepelletier, and see the Em- 
peror and Empress going in to the 
Opera. There was no difficulty in 
the way of this amendment, so it was 

On coming out of the Louvre, 
however, we found, to our surprise 
and discomfiture, that the weather 
had been plotting against our little 
programme. The ground, which was 
frozen dry and hard when we drove 
down from the Champs Elyse"es less 
than two hours before, had become 
like polished glass under a heavy 
fall of sleet; the horses were already 
slipping about in a very uncomforta- 
ble way, and there was a decided dis- 

Mary Bcncdicta. 


inclination on the part of pedestrians 
to trust themselves to cabs. Fate 
had decreed that Mary was not to 
see the Emperor on any terms that 
night. It would have been absurdly 
imprudent to venture on the maca- 
dam of the boulevards, and increase 
the risk of driving at all by waiting 
till the streets were so slippery that 
no horse could keep his footing on 
them. There was nothing for it but 
to go straight home, which we did, 
the horse snailing at a foot-pace all 
the way. 

It was a memorable night this one 
of which I am chronicling a trivial 
recollection trivial in itself, but 
weighty in its consequences. 

It was the i4th of January, 

We went to bed, and slept, no 
doubt, soundly. None the less 
soundly for the thundering crash 
that, before we lay down, had shaken 
the Rue Lepelletier from end to end, 
making the houses rock to their 
foundations, shattering to pieces 
every window from garret to cellar, 
and reverberating along the bou- 
levards like the roar of a hundred 
cannon. The noise shook half Paris 
awake for that long night. The peo- 
ple, first merely terrified, then lashed 
to a frenzy of horror and of enthusi- 
asm, rushed from their houses, and 
thronged the boulevards and the 
streets in the vicinity of the Opera. 
In the pitch darkness that followed 
simultaneously with the bursting of 
Orsini's bombs, it was impossible to 
know how many were murdered or 
how many wounded. There had 
been a great crowd of curieux and 
strangers as usual waiting to see their 
majesties alight the street was lined 
with them. Were they all murdered, 
blown to the four winds of heaven, in 
that explosion that was loud enough 
to have blown up half Paris ? Of 
course, popular fear and fury exagge- 

rated the number of the victims enor- 
mously, and the night resounded 
with the shrieks and lamentations of 
women, the plunging and moaning 
tf horses, wounded or only frantic 
with terror, and the passionate cries 
of Vive V Empercur ! intermingled 
with curses on the fiends who, to 
secure the murder of one man, 
had sacrificed the lives of hun- 

While this ghastly tumult was 
scaring sleep and silence from the 
city close to us, we slept on, all un- 
conscious of the cup of trembling to 
which we had stretched out our 
hand, and which had been so merci- 
fully snatched away from us. 

It was only next morning, on go- 
ing out to Mass, that the concierge 
stopped us to tell the news of the at- 
tempt on the Emperor's life. 

And we had been vexed and felt 
aggrieved with the rain that drove 
us home, and prevented our going 
to stand amongst those curieux in the 
Rue Lepelletier! 

Mary did not- hear of it till we 
met at breakfast. I never shall for- 
get the look of blank horror on her 
face as she listened to the account of 
what had happened on the very spot 
where we had been so bent on 

Although this attack of Orsini's 
comes into my narrative simply as a 
datum, I cannot resist making a short 
digression toward it. 

Most of my readers will remember 
the singular stoicism displayed by 
the Emperor at the moment of the 
explosion. One of the horses was 
killed under his carriage, which was 
violently shaken by the plunging of 
the terrified animals, and a splinter 
from one of the bombs, flashing 
through the window, grazed him on 
the temple. In the midst of the 
general panic and confusion of the 
scene, the equerry rushed forward, 


Mary Bencdicta. 

and, taking the Emperor by the arm, 
cried hurriedly : 

" Come out, sire ! Come out !" 
"Let down the steps," observed 
his master with unruffled sang froid, 
and quietly waited till it was done 
before he moved. 

He entered the Opera amidst deaf- 
ening cheers, and sat out the repre- 
sentation as coolly, and to all ap- 
pearances with as much attention, as 
if nothing had occurred to disturb 
him, now and then quietly drawing 
his handkerchief across the splinter- 
mark on his forehead, from which 
the blood was oozing slightly. 

Next day a solemn Te Deum was 
celebrated at the Tuileries. The 
Empress wished the little prince, 
then a baby in arms, to be present at 
the thanksgiving for her own and his 
father's miraculous preservation. The 
child was carried into the Salle des 
Marechaux, where the court and the 
Corps Diplomatique were assembled, 
and immediately put out his hands, 
clamoring for his father to take him. 
The Emperor took him in his arms, 
and the child, looking up at his face, 
noticed the red mark on the tem- 

" Papa bobo /"* he lisped, and 
put up his little hand to touch it. 

The hard, sphynx-like face strug- 
gled for a moment; but the child's 
touch had melted the strong man. 
He clasped him to his heart, and 
literally shook with sobs. 

These details, which were proba- 
bly never written before, were told 
to me by one who was present at 
the attempt the previous night, 
and at the Te Deum Mass next 

That night, when we were alone, 
Mary and I talked over the diaboli- 
cal crime that had within four and 
twenty hours shaken the whole coun- 

*A French child's word for hurt. 

try like an eartnquake, and over the 
merciful interposition that had arrest- 
ed us on our way to what might 
have been for us, as it was for many, 
a certain and horrible death. Mary, 
though she said little on this latter 
point, was evidently very deeply im- 
pressed, and what she did say carried 
in it a depth of religious emotion 
that revealed her to me in quite a 
new light. 

It was agreed that she would go 
to confession next day, and that we 
were to begin a novena together in 
thanksgiving for our preservation. 

" Mary," I said impulsively, after 
we had been silent a little while, 
" why have you such a dislike to go 
to the sacraments ? I can't under- 
stand how, believing in them at all, 
you can be satisfied to approach them 
so seldom." 

" It isn't dislike; it is fear," she an- 
swered. " It's precisely because I 
realize so awfully the power and 
sanctity of the Blessed Sacrament that 
I keep away. I believe so intensely 
in it that, if I went often to holy 
communion, I should have to divorce 
from everything, to give up my whole 
life to preparation and thanksgiving. 
I know I should. And I don't want 
to do it. Not yet, at any rate," she 
added, half-unconsciously, as if speak- 
ing to herself. 

I shall never forget the effect her 
words had on me, nor her face as 
she uttered them. The night was far 
spent. The emotions of the day, the 
long watch, and perhaps the flicker- 
ing of our bedroom candle that was 
burning low, all conspired to give an 
unwonted pallor to her features that 
imbued them with an almost ethereal 
beauty. I always think of her now 
as she sat there, in her girlish white 
dressing-gown, her hands locked 
resting on her knees, her head thrown 
back, and her eyes looking up, so 
still, as if some far beyond were 

Mary Bencdicta. 


breaking on her gaze and holding it 

Nothing broke on mine. In my 
dull blindness I did not see that I 
was assisting at the beginning of a 
great mystery, a spectacle on which 
the gaze of angels was riveted the 
wrestling of a soul with God : the 
soul resisting; the Creator pleading 
and pursuing. 

She left us at the end of January 
to return home. We parted with 
many tears, and a promise to corre- 
spond often and pray for each other 
daily. " 

For a time we did correspond very 
regularly for nearly a year. Dur- 
ing this period her life was an un- 
pausing whirl of dissipation. Balls, 
visits, operas, and concerts during 
the season in town were succeeded 
in the country by more balls, and 
hunting, and skating, and the usual 
round of amusements that make up 
a gay country life. Mary was every- 
where the beauty of the place, the 
admired of all admirers. Strange to 
say, in spite of her acknowledged 
supremacy, she made no enemies. 
Perhaps it would have been stranger 
'still if she had. Her sweet, artless 
manner and perfect unconsciousness 
of self went for at least as much hi 
the admiration she excited as her 
beauty. If she danced every dance 
at every ball, it was never once for 
the pleasure of saying she did it, of 
triumphing over other girls, but for 
the genuine pleasure of the dance 

Her success was so gratuitous, so 
little the result of coquetry on her 
side, that, however much it might be 
envied, it was impossible to resent it. 

I am not trying to make out a case 
or Mary, or to excuse, still less justi- 
fy, the levity of the life she was lead- 
ing at this time. My only aim is to 
convey a true idea of the spirit in 
which she was leading it mere exu- 

berance of spirits, the zest of youth 
in the gay opportunities that were 
showered upon her path. She was 
revelling like a butterfly in flowers 
^nd sunshine. The spirit of worldli- 
ness in its true and worst sense did 
not possess her ; did not even touch 
her. Its cankerous breath had not 
blown upon her soul and blighted it ; 
the worm had not eaten into her 
heart and hardened it. Both were 
still sound only drunk ; intoxicated 
with the wine of life. She went 
waltzing through flames, like a moth 
round a candle ; like a child letting 
off rockets, and clapping hands with 
delight at the pretty blue blaze, with- 
out fear or thought of danger. There 
was no such thing as premeditated 
infidelity in her mind. She was not 
playing a deliberate game with God ; 
bidding him wait till she was ready, 
till she was tired of the world and 
the world of her. No, she was utterly 
incapable of such a base and guilty 
calculation. She had simply forgot- 
ten that she had a soul to save. The 
still, small voice that had spoken to 
her in earlier days, especially on that 
night of the i5th of January, stirring 
the sleeping depths, and calling out 
momentary yearnings toward the high- 
er life, had altogether ceased its plead- 
ings. How could that mysterious 
whisper make itself heard in such a 
din and clangor of unholy music? 
There was no silent spot in her soul 
where it could enter and find a listen- 
er. But Mary did not think about it. 
She was inebriated with youth and 
joy, and had flung herself into the 
vortex, and raced round with it till 
her head reeled. On the surface, all 
was ripple and foam, rings running 
round and round ; but the depths 
below were sleeping. The one, the 
visible hold that she retained on God 
at this time was her love for his poor. 
Her heart was always tender to suf- 
fering in every form, but to the poor 


Mary Benedicta. 

especially. As an instance of this, I 
may mention her taking off her flan- 
nel petticoat, on a bitter winter's day, 
to give it to a poor creature whom 
she met shivering at the road-side, 
and then running nearly a mile home 
in the cold herself. 

After about a year our correspon- 
dence slackened, and gradually broke 
down altogether. I heard from her 
once in six months, perhaps. The 
tone of her letters struck me as 
altered. I could not exactly say 
how, except that it had grown more 
serious. She said nothing of triumphs 
at archery meetings or of brushes 
carried off " at the death ;" there 
seemed to be no such feats to chro- 
nicle. She talked of her family and 
of mine, very little of herself. Once 
only, in answer to a direct question 
as to what books she read, she told 
me that she was reading Father Fa- 
ber, and that she read very little else. 
This was the only clue I gained to 
the nature of the change that had 
come over her. 

At the expiration of about two 
years, a clergyman, who was an old 
friend of her family, and a frequent 
visitor at the house, came to Paris, 
and gave me a detailed account 
of the character and extent of the 

The excitement into which she 
had launched on returning home, and 
which she had kept up with unflag- 
ging spirit, had, as might have been 
expected, told on her health, never 
very strong. A cough set in at the 
beginning of the winter which caus- 
ed her family some alarm. She grew 
thin to emaciation, lost her appetite, 
and fell into a state of general ill- 
health. Change of air and complete 
rest were prescribed by the medical 
men. She was accordingly taken 
from one sea-side place to another, 
and condemned to a regime of dul- 
ness and quiet. In a few months 

the system told favorably, and she 
was sufficiently recovered to return 

But the monotony of an inactive 
life which was still enforced, after the 
mad-cap career she had been used 
to, wearied her unspeakably. For 
want of something better to do, she 
took to reading. Novels, of course. 
Fortunately for her, ten years ago 
young ladies had not taken to writ- 
ing novels that honest men blush to 
review, and that too many young 
ladies do not blush to read. Mary 
did no worse than waste her time 
without active detriment to her mind. 
She read the new novels of the day, 
and, if she was not much the better, 
she was probably none the worse for 
it. But one day a date to be written 
in gold a friend, the same who gave 
me these particulars, made her a 
present of Father Faber's All for Je- 
sus. The title promised very little 
entertainment ; reluctantly enough, 
Mary turned over the pages and be- 
gan to read. How long she read, I 
cannot tell. It might be true to say 
that she never left off. Others fol- 
lowed, all from the same pen, through 
uninterrupted days, and weeks, and 
months. She told me afterward that 
the burning words of those books 
the first especially, and The Creator 
and the Creature pursued her even in 
her dreams. She seemed to hear a 
voice crying after her unceasingly : 
" Arise, and follow !" 

Suddenly, but irrevocably, the 
whole" aspect of life was changed to 
her. She began to look back upon the 
near past, and wonder whether it 
was she herself who had so enjoyed 
those balls and gaieties, or whether 
she had not been mad, and imagined 
it, and was only now in her right 
mind. The most insuperable disgust 
succeeded to her love of worldly 
amusement. She cared for nothing 
but prayer and meditation, and the 

Mary Benedicta. 


service of the poor and suffering. An 
ardent longing took possession of her 
to suffer for and with our Divine 
Master. Yielding to the impulse of 
her new-born fervor, she began to 
practise the most rigorous austerities, 
fasting much, sleeping little, and 
praying almost incessantly. This was 
done without the counsel or cogni- 
zance of any spiritual guide. She 
knew of no one to consult. Her 
life had been spiritually so neglect- 
ed during the last two years that di- 
rection had had no part to play in it. 
There was nothing to direct. The 
current was setting in an opposite di- 
rection. The supernatural was out 
of sight. 

Under cover of her health, which, 
though it was fairly recovered, still 
rendered quiet and great prudence 
desirable, Mary contrived to avoid 
all going out, and secretly laid down 
for herself a rule of life that she ad- 
hered to scrupulously. 

But this could not go on long. As 
she grew in the ways of prayer, the 
spirit of God led her imperceptibly 
but inevitably into the sure and safe 
high-road of all pilgrims travelling to- 
ward the bourn of sanctity and aim- 
ing at a life of perfection. 

The necessity of a spiritual direc- 
tor was gradually borne in upon her, 
as she said to me, while at the same 
time the difficulty of meeting with 
this treasure, whom St. Teresa bids 
us seek amongst ten thousand, grew 
more and more apparent and dis- 

Her father, a man of the world 
and very little versed in the myste- 
ries of the interior life, but a good 
practical Catholic nevertheless, saw 
the transformation that had taken 
place in his daughter, and knew not 
exactly whether to be glad or sorry. 
He acknowledged to her long after 
that the first recognition of it struck 
upon his heart like a death-knell. 

He felt it was the signal for a great 

Mary opened her heart to him un- 
reservedly, seeking more at his hands 
nerhaps than any mere father in 
flesh and blood could give, asking 
him to point out to her the turning- 
point of the new road on which she 
had entered, and to help her to tread 
it. That it was to be a path of 
thorns in which she would need all 
the help that human love could gath- 
er to divine grace, she felt already 

Her father, with the honesty of an 
upright heart, confessed himself in- 
adequate to the solving of such a 
problem, and bravely proposed tak- 
ing her to London to consult Father 

Mary, in an ecstasy of gratitude, 
threw her arms round his neck, and 
declared it was what she had been 
longing for for months. Father Fa- 
ber had been her guide so far; his 
written word had spoken to her like 
a voice from the holy mount, mak- 
ing all the dumb chords of her soul 
to vibrate. What would he not do 
for her if she could speak to him 
heart to heart, and hear the words 
of prayer-inspired wisdom from his 
own lips ! 

They set out in a few days for 
London; but they were not to get 
there. The promise that looked so 
near and so precious in its accom- 
plishment was never to be fulfilled. 
They had no sooner reached Dub- 
lin than Mary fell ill. For some 
days she was in high fever ; the me- 
dical men assured the panic-stricken 
father that there was no immediate 
cause for alarm; no remote cause 
even, as the case then stood; the pa- - 
tient was delicate, but her constitu- 
tion was good, the nervous system 
sound, although shaken by the pres- 
ent attack, and apparently by previous 
mental anxiety. The attack itself 


Mary Bcnedicta. 

they attributed to a chill which had 
fallen on the chest. 

The event justified the opinion of 
the physicians. Mary recovered 
speedily. It was not judged advisa- 
ble, however, to let her proceed to 
London. She relinquished the plan 
herself with a facility that surprised 
her father. He knew how ardently 
she had longed to see the spiritual 
guide who had already done so much 
for her, and he could not forbear 
asking why she took the disappoint- 
ment so coolly. 

" It's not a disappointment, father. 
God never disappoints. I don't know 
why, only I feel as if the longing 
were already satisfied ; as if I were 
not to go so far to find what I'm 
looking for," she answered ; and quiet- 
ly set about preparing to go back 

But they were still on the road of 
Damascus. On the way home, they 
rested at the house of a friend near 
the Monastery of Mount Melleray. 
I cannot be quite sure whether the 
monks were giving a retreat for se- 
culars in the monastery, or whether 
it was being preached in the neigh- 
boring town. As well as I remem- 
ber, it was the latter. Indeed, I doubt 
whether women would be admitted 
to assist at a retreat within the mo- 
nastery, and, if not, this would be con- 
clusive. But of one thing I am sure, 
the preacher was Father Paul, the 
superior of La Trappe. I don't know 
whether his eloquence, judged by the 
standard of human rhetoric, was any- 
thing very remarkable, but many wit- 
nesses go to prove on exhaustive 
evidence that it was of that kind 
whose property it is to save souls. 

To Mary it came like a summons 
straight from heaven. She felt an 
imperative desire to speak to him at 
once in the confessional. 

" I can give you no idea of the 
exquisite sense of peace and security 

that came over me the moment I 
knelt down at his feet," she said, in 
relating to me this stage of her voca- 
tion. " I felt certain that I had found 
the man who was to be my Father 

And so she had. 

All that passes between a director 
and his spiritual child is of so solemn 
and sacred a nature that, although 
many things which Mary confided to 
me concerning her intercourse with 
the saintly abbot of La Trappe might 
prove instructive and would certainly 
prove edifying to many interior souls, 
I do not feel justified in repeating 
them. If I were even not held back 
by this fear of indiscretion, I should 
shrink from relating these confiden- 
ces, lest I should mar the beauty or 
convey a false interpretation of their 
meaning. While she was speaking, 
*I understood her perfectly. While 
listening to the wonderful experien- 
ces of divine grace with what she 
had been favored, and which she re- 
counted tome with the confiding sim- 
plicity of a child, her words were as 
clear and reflected her thoughts as 
luminously as a lake reflects the stars 
looking down into its crystal depths, 
making the mirror below a faithful 
repetition of the sky above. But 
when I tried to write down what she 
had said while it was quite fresh upon 
my mind, the effort baffled me. There 
was so little to write, and that little 
was so delicate, so mysteriously in- 
tangible, I seemed never to find 
the right word that had come so na- 
turally, so expressively, to her. When 
she spoke of prayer especially, there 
was an eloquence, rising almost to 
sublimity, in her language that alto- 
gether defied my coarse translation, 
and seemed to dissolve like a rain- 
bow under the process of dissection. 
The most elevated subjects she was 
at home with as if they had been 
her natural theme, 'he highest spiri- 

Mary Bcncdicta, 


tuality her natural element. The writ- 
ings of St. Teresa and St. Bernard had 
grown familiar to her as her cate- 
chism, and she seemed to have caught 
the note of their inspired teaching 
with the mastery of sainthood. This 
was the more extraordinary to me 
that her intellect was by no means 
of a high order. Quite the contrary. 
Her taste, the whole bent of her na- 
ture, was the reverse of intellectual, 
and what intelligence she had was, 
as far as real culture went, almost 
unreclaimed. Her reading had been 
always of the most superficial, non- 
metaphysical kind ; indeed, the aver- 
sion to what she called " hard read- 
ing" made her turn with perverse 
dislike from any book whose title 
threatened to be at all instructive. 
She had never taken a prize at school, 
partly because she was too lazy to 
try for it, but also because she had 
not brain enough to cope with the 
clever girls of her class. Mary was 
quite alive to her shortcomings in 
this line, indeed she exaggerated 
them, as she was prone to do most 
of her delinquencies, and always spoke 
of herself as " stupid." This she de- 
cidedly was not ; but her intellectual 
powers were sufficiently below supe- 
riority to make her sudden awaken- 
ing to the sublime language of mys- 
tical theology and her intuitive per- 
ception of its subtlest doctrines mat- 
ter of great wonder to those who 
only measure man's progress in the 
science of the saints by the shallow 
gauge of human intellect. 

" How do you contrive to under- 
stand those books, Mary?" I asked 
her once, after listening to her quot- 
ing St. Bernard a Vappui of some re- 
marks on the Prayer of Union that 
carried me miles out of my depth. 

" I don't know," she replied with 
her sweet simplicity, quite unconscious 
of revealing any secrets of infused 
science to my wondering ears. " I 

used not to understand them the 
least; but by degrees the meaning 
of the words began to dawn on me, 
and the more I read, the better I un- 
dfrstood. When I come to anything 
very difficult, I stop, and pray, and 
meditate till the meaning comes to 
me. It is often a surprise to myself, 
considering how stupid I am in every- 
thing else," she continued, laughing, 
" that I should understand spiritual 
books even as well as I do." 

Those who have studied the ways 
of God with his saints will not share 
her surprise. In our own day, the 
venerable Cure d'Ars is among the 
most marvellous proofs of the manner 
in which he pours out his wisdom on 
those who are accounted and who 
account themselves fools, not wor- 
thy to pass muster amongst men. 
But I am anticipating. 

Her meeting with Father Paul was 
the first goal in her new career, and 
from the moment Mary had reached 
it she felt secure of being led safely to 
the end. 

Those intervening stages were none 
the less agitated by many interior 
trials ; doubts as to the sincerity of 
her vocation ; heart-sinkings as to 
her courage in bearing on under the 
cross that she had taken up ; misgiv- 
ings, above all, as to the direction in 
which that cross lay. While her 
life-boat was getting ready, filling 
its sails, and making out of port for 
the shoreless sea of detachment and 
universal sacrifice, she sat shivering; 
her Jiand on the helm; the deep 
waters heaving beneath her; the 
wind blowing bleak and cold ; the 
near waves dashing up their spray 
into her face, and the breakers fur- 
ther out roaring and howling like 
angry floods. There were rocks 
ahead, and all round under those 
foaming billows; sad havoc had 
they made of many a brave little 
boat that had put out to sea from 


Mary Bencdicta. 

that same port where she was still 
tossing home, with its sheltering love 
and care ; piety enough to save any 
well-intentioned soul ; good example 
to give and to take; good works to 
do in plenty, and the body not over- 
ridden by austerities against nature ; 
not starved to despondency ; not ex- 
asperated by hunger, and cold, and 
endless vigils, and prayer as endless. 
It was a goodly port and safe, this 
home of hers. See how the deep 
throws up its prey on every side ! 
Wrecks and spars, the shattered 
remnants of bold vessels, and the 
lifeless bodies of the rash crew are 
everywhere strewn over the waters. 
" Take heed !" they cry to her as she 
counts the records one by one. " This 
is an awful sea, and bold must be 
the heart, and stout and iron-clad 
the boat that tempts the stormy 
bosom. We came, and perished. 
Would that we had never left the 

Mary never argued with the storm. 
She would fall at the feet of Him 
who was " sleeping below," and wake 
him with the loud cry of trembling 
faith, " Help me, Master, or I perish !" 
and the storm subsided. 

But when the wind and the waves 
were hushed, there rose up in the 
calm a voice sweet and low, but 
more ruthlessly terrible to her cour- 
age than the threatening fury of ten 
thousand storms. She was her 
father's oldest and darling child ; she 
had a brother, too, and sisters, all 
tenderly loved, and cousins and 
friends only less dear ; she was a joy 
and a comfort to many. Must she 
go from them ? Must she leave all 
this love and all the loveliness of life 
for ever ? 

Mary's vocation, notwithstanding 
its strongly marked supernatural cha- 
racter, was not proof against these 
cruel alternations of enthusiastic 
courage, and desolate heart-sinkings, 

and bewildering doubts. Nay, they 
were no doubt a necessary part of 
its perfection. It was needful that 
she should pass through the dark 
watch of Gethsemani before setting 
out to climb the rugged hill of Cal- 

All this history of her interior life 
she told me viva voce when we met. In 
her letters, which were at this period 
very rare and always very uncom- 
municative, she said nothing what- 
ever of these strifes and victories. 

But her adversaries were not all 
within. A hard battle remained to 
be fought with her father. His op- 
position was active and relentless. 
He had at first tacitly acquiesced in 
her consecration to God in a religious 
life of some sort ; but he believed, as 
every one else did, that to let her 
enter La Trappe would be to consign 
her to speedy and certain death ; and 
when she announced to him that this 
was the order she had selected, and 
the one which drew her with the 
power of attraction, that she had 
struggled in vain to resist, he declared 
that nothing short of a written man- 
date from God would induce him to 
consent to such an act of suicide. In 
vain Mary pleaded that when God 
called a soul he provided all that 
was necessary to enable her to an- 
swer the call; that her health, for- 
merly so delicate when she was 
leading a life of self-indulgence, was 
now completely restored; that she 
had never been so strong as since she 
had lived in almost continual absti- 
nence (she did not eat meat on 
Wednesday, Friday, or Saturday) ; that 
the weakness of nature was no ob- 
stacle to the power of grace, and 
there are graces in the conventual life 
that seculars did not dream of, nor 
receive because they did not need 

In answer to these plausible argu- 
ments, the incredulous father brought 

Mary Bencdicta. 


out the laws of nature, and reason and 
common sense, and the opinion of 
the medical men who had attended 
her in Dublin, and under whose care 
she had been more or less ever since. 
These men of natural science and 
human sympathies declared positive- 
ly that it was neither more nor less 
than suicide to condemn herself to 
the rule of St. Bernard in the 
cloister, where want of animal food 
and warmth would infallibly kill her 
before the novitiate was out. They 
were prepared to risk their reputa- 
tion on the issue of this certificate. 

Mary's exhaustive answer to all 
this was that grace was always stronger 
than nature ; that the supernatural ele- 
ment would overrule and sustain the 
human one. But she pleaded in vain. 
Her father was resolute. He even went 
so far as to insist on her returning to 
society and seeing more of the world 
before she was divorced from it irrevo- 
cably. This check was as severe as it 
was unexpected. Though her dis- 
gust to the vanities of her former life 
continued as strong as ever, while 
her longing for the perfect life grew 
every day more intense and more 
energizing, her humility made her 
tremble for her own weakness. 
Might not the strength that had 
borne her bravely so far break down 
under the attack of all her old tempt- 
ers let loose on her at once ? Her 
love of pleasure, that fatal enemy 
that now seemed dead, might it not 
rise up again with overmastering 
power, aad, aided by the reaction 
prepared by her new life, seize her 
and hold her more successfully than 
ever ? Yes, all this was only too 
possible. There was nothing for it 
but to brave her father, to defy his 
authority, and to save her soul in 
spite of him. She must run away 
from home. 

Before, however, putting this wise 
determination into practice, it was 

necessary to consult Father Paul. 
His answer was what most of our 
readers will suspect : 

" Obedience is your first' duty. No 
blessing could come from such a vio- 
lation of filial piety. Your father is a 
Christian. Do as he bids you ; appeal 
to his love for your soul not to tax 
its strength unwisely ; then trust your 
soul to God as a little child trusts to 
its mother. He sought you, and 
pursued you, and brought you home 
when you were flying from him. Is 
it likely he will forsake you now, 
when you are seeking after him with 
all your heart and making his will 
the one object of your life ? Mis- 
trust yourself, my child. Never mis- 
trust God." Mary felt the wisdom 
of the advice, and submitted to it in 
a spirit of docility, of humble mis- 
trust and brave trust, and made up 
her mind to go through the trial as 
an earnest of the sincerity of her de- 
sire to seek God's will, and accom- 
plish it in whatever way he appointed. 

She had so completely taken leave 
of the gay world for more than a 
year that her reappearance at a coun- 
ty ball caused quite a sensation. 

Rumor and romance had put their 
heads together, and explained after 
their own fashion the motive of the 
change in her life and her total se- 
clusion from society. Of course, it 
could only be some sentimental rea- 
son, disappointed affection, perhaps 
inadequate fortune or position on 
one side, and a hard-hearted father 
on the other, etc. Whispers of this 
idle gossip came to Mary's ears and 
amused her exceedingly. She could 
afford to laugh at it as there was not 
the smallest shadow of reality under 
the fiction. 

Her father, whose parental weak- 
ness sheltered itself behind the doc- 
tors and common sense, did not ex- 
act undue sacrifices from her. He 
allowed her to continue her ascetic 


Mary Bencdicta. 

rule of life unmolested, to abstain* 
from meat as usual, to go assiduous- 
ly amongst the poor, and to devote 
as much time as she liked to prayer. 
There were two Masses daily in the 
village church, one at half-past six, 
another at half-past seven. He made 
a difficulty at first about her assisting 
at them. The church was nearly 
half an hour's walk from the house, 
and the cold morning or night air, 
as it really was, was likely to try her 
severely. But after a certain amount 
of arguing and coaxing Mary car- 
ried her point, and every morning 
long before daybreak sallied forth 
to the village. Her nurse, who was 
very pious and passionately attached 
to her, went with her. Not without 
hesitating, though. Every day as re- 
gularly as they set out M alone enter- 
ed a protest. 

" It's not natural, Miss Mary, to 
be gadding out by candle-light in this 
fashion, walking about the fields like 
a pair of ghosts. Indeed, darlin', it 

The nurse was right. It certainly 
was not natural, and, if Mary had 
been so minded, she might have re- 
plied that it was not meant to be; 
it was supernatural. She contented 
herself, however, by deprecating the 
good soul's reproof and proposing to 
say the rosary, a proposal to which 
Malone invariably assented. So, 
waking up the larks with their matin 
prayer, the two would walk on brisk- 
ly to church. 

Once set an Irish nurse to pray, and 
she'll keep pace with any saint in the 
calendar. Malone was not behind 
with the best. The devout old soul, 
never loath to begin, when once on 
her knees and fairly wound up in de- 
votion, would go on for ever, and, 
when the two Masses were over and 
it was time to go, Mary had general- 
ly to break her off in the full tide of a 
litany that Malone went on mutter- 

ing all the way out of church and 
sometimes finished on the road home. 

But if she was ready to help Mary 
in her praying feats, she highly dis- 
approved of the fasting ones, as well 
as of the short rest that her young 
mistress imposed on herself. Mary 
confessed to me that sleep was at this 
period her greatest difficulty. She 
was by nature a great sleeper, and 
there was a time when early rising, 
even comparatively early, seemed to 
her the very climax of heroic mortifi- 
cation. By degrees she brought her- 
self to rise at a given hour, which gra- 
dually, with the help of her angel 
guardian and a strong resolve, she 
advanced to five o'clock. 

During this time of probation, her 
father took her constantly into so- 
ciety, to archery meetings, and regat- 
tas, and concerts, and balls, as the 
season went on. Mary did her part 
bravely and cheerfully, Sometimes 
a panic seized her that her old spirit 
of worldliness was coming back 
coming back with seven devils to 
take his citadel by storm and hold it 
more firmly than ever. But she had 
only to fix her eyes steadily on the 
faithful beacon of the Light-house out 
at sea, and bend her ear to the Life- 
bell chiming its Sursum Corda far 
above the moaning of the waves and 
winds, and her foolish fears gave 

No one who saw her so bright and 
gracious, so gracefully pleased with 
everything and everybody, suspected 
the war that was agitating her spirit 
within. Her father wished her to 
take part in the dancing, otherwise 
he said her presence in the midst of 
it would be considered compulsory 
and her abstention be construed into 
censure or gloom. Mary acquiesced 
with regard to the square dances, 
but resolutely declined to waltz. Her 
father, satisfied with the concession, 
did not coerce her further. 

Mary Bcncdicta. 


So things went on for about a 
year. Father Paul meantime had 
had his share in the probationary ac- 
tion. He knew that his patient's 
health was not strong, and taking in- 
to due account her father's vehement 
and up to a certain point just repre- 
sentations on the physical impossi- 
bility of her bearing the rule of St. 
Bernard, he endeavored to' attract her 
toward an active order, and used all 
his influence to induce her to try at 
any rate a less austere one before en- 
tering La Trappe. Animated by the 
purest and most ardent love for the 
soul whose precious destinies were 
placed under his guidance, he left no- 
thing undone to prevent the possi- 
bility of mistake or ultimate regret 
in her choice. He urged her to go 
and see various other convents and 
make acquaintance with their mode 
of life. Seeing her great reluctance 
to do this, he had recourse to strata- 
gem in order to compel her uncon- 
sciously to examine into the spirit 
and rule of several monastic houses 
that he held in high esteem. One 
in particular, a community of Bene- 
dictines, I think it was, he thought 
likely to prove attractive to her as 
uniting a great deal of prayer with ac- 
tive duties toward the poor, teaching, 
etc., and at the same time of less cru- 
cifying discipline than that of Citeaux. 
He gave her a commission for the 
superioress, with many excuses for 
troubling her, and begging that she 
would not undertake it if it interfer- 
ed with any arrangement of her own 
or her father's just then. 

Mary, never suspecting the trap 
that was laid for her, made a point 
of setting out to the convent at once. 
The superioress, previously enlight- 
ened by Father Paul, received her 
with more than kindness, and, after 
discussing the imaginary subject of 
the visit, invited her to visit the cha- 
pel, then the house, and finally, draw- 

ing her into confidential discourse, 
explained all about its spirit and man- 
ner of life. 

Mary, in relating this circumstance 
to ^ne, said that, though the superior- 
ess was one of the most attractive 
persons she ever met, and the con- 
vent beautiful in its appointments, 
rather than enter it she would have 
preferred spending the rest of her 
days in the dangers of the most worldly 
life. Everything but La Trappe was 
unutterably antagonistic to her. Yet, 
with the exception of Mount Melleray 
she had never seen even the outside 
walls of a Cistercian convent, and 
the fact of there not being one for 
women in Ireland added one obsta- 
cle more in the way of her entering 
La Trappe. 

When Father Paul heard the re- 
sult of this last ruse, he confessed the 
truth to her. Noways discouraged, 
nevertheless he persisted in saying 
that she was much better fitted for a 
life of mixed activity and contempla- 
tion than for a purely contemplative 
one, and he forbade her for a time 
to let her mind dwell on the latter as 
her ultimate vocation, to read any 
books that treated of it, even to pray 
specially that she might be led to it. 
To all these despotic commands Ma- 
ry yielded a prompt, unquestioning 
obedience. She was with God like 
a child with a schoolmaster. What- 
ever lesson he set her, she set about 
learning it. Easy or difficult, pleas- 
ant or unpleasant, it was all one to 
her cheerful good-will. Why do we 
not all do like her ? We are all 
children at school, but, instead of put- 
ting our minds to getting our lesson 
by heart, we spend the study-hour 
chafing at the hard words, dog-ear- 
ing our book, and irreverently grum< 
bling at the master who has set us the 
task. Sometimes we think in our 
conceit that it is too easy, that we 
should do better something difficult. 


Mary Benedict a. 

When the bell rings, we go up with- 
out knowing a word of it, and stand 
sulky and disrespectful before the 
desk. We are chided, and turn back, 
and warned to do better to-morrow. 
And so we go on from year to year, 
from childhood to youth, from youth 
to age, never learning our lesson pro- 
perly, but dodging, and missing, and 
beginning over and over again at 
the same point. Some of us go on 
being dunces to the end of our lives, 
when school breaks up, and we are 
called for and taken home to the 
home where there are many man- 
sions, but none assuredly for the 
drones who have spent their school- 
days in idleness and mutiny. 

To Father Paul, the childlike sub- 
mission and humility with which Ma- 
ry met every effort to thwart her vo- 
cation were no doubt more conclu- 
sive proof of its solidity than the 
most marked supernatural favors 
would have been. 

At last her gentle perseverance was 
rewarded, grace triumphed over her 
father's heart, and he expressed his 
willingness to give her up to 

In the summer of i86i,we went 
to stay at Versailles, and it was there 
that I received from Mary the first 
definite announcement of her voca- 
tion. She wrote to me saying that, 
after long deliberation and much 
prayer and wise direction, she had 
decided on entering a convent of 
the Cistercian order. As there was 
no branch of it in Ireland, she was 
to come to France, and she begged 
me to make inquiries as to where the 
novitiate was, and to let her know 
with as little delay as possible. I 
will not dwell upon my own feelings 
on reading this letter. I had expect- 
ed some such result, though, knowing 
the state of her health, it had not oc- 
curred to me she could have joined, 
however she might have wished it, 

so severe an order as that of the 
founder of Citeaux. 

I had not the least idea where the 
novitiate in France was ; and, as the 
few persons whom I was able to 
question at once on the subject seem- 
ed to know no more about it than I 
did myself, the hope flashed across 
my mind that there might not be a 
convent of Trappistines at all in 
France. But this was not of long 

We had on our arrival at Versailles 
made the acquaintance of a young 
girl whom I shall call Agnes. My 
mother was already acquainted with 
her parents and other members of 
the family; but Agnes had either been 
at school or absent visiting relations, 
so from one cause or another we 
had never met till now. She was 
seventeen years of age, a fair, fragile- 
looking girl, who reminded most peo- 
ple of Schaeffer's Marguerite. 

Agnes had a younger sister at the 
Convent of La Sainte Enfance, not 
far from her father's residence, and 
she asked me one day to come and 
see this sister and a nun that she was 
very fond of. I went, and, being full 
of the thought of my sweet friend in 
Ireland, I immediately opened the 
subject of Citeaux with the pretty 
talkative little nun who came to the 
parlor with Agnes's sister. 

" What a singular chance !" she 
exclaimed, when I had told as 
much of my story as was necessary. 
" Why, we have at this moment a 
community of Cistercian nuns in the 
house here ! Their monastery is be- 
ing repaired, and in the meantime we 
have permission from the bishop to 
harbor them. See," she went on, 
pointing to a row of windows whose 
closed Persiennes were visible at an 
angle from where we sat, " that is 
where our mother has lodged them. 
You can speak to the prioress, if you 
like, but of course you cannot see her." 

Mary Dcucdicta. 


I was more struck by the strange 
coincidence than overjoyed at being 
so near the solution of my difficulty. 
I could not, however, but take ad- 
vantage of the opportunity. Sister 
Madeleine, which was the little nun's 
name, ran off to ask " our mother's " 
permission for me to speak with their 
Cistercian sister, and in a few mi- 
nutes returned with an affirmative. 

I was led to the door of the com- 
munity-room, and, through a little 
extempore grating cut through the 
panel and veiled on the inside, I 
held converse with the mother abbess. 

A few words assured me that Sis- 
ter Madeleine had been mistaken in 
supposing her guests to be the daugh- 
ters of St. Bernard. They were Poor 
Clares an order more rigorous, 
even, than the Trappistines ; bare feet, 
except when standing on a stone 
pavement or in the open air, when 
the rule is to slip the feet into wooden 
sandals, are a*dded to the fasting and 
perpetual silence of Citeaux. Of 
this latter the abbess could tell me 
nothing nothing, at least, of its ac- 
tual existence and branches in France, 
though she broke out into impulsive 
and loving praise of its spirit and its 
saintly founder, and the rich harvest 
of souls he and his children had 
reaped for our Lord. 

Here, then, was another respite. 
It really seemed probable that, if, in 
a quarter so likely to be well inform- 
ed on the point, there was no account 
to be had of a Trappistine convent, 
there could not be one in existence, 
and Mary, from sheer inability to en- 
ter La Trappe, might be driven to 
choose some less terrible rule. 

Mary meantime had set other in- 
quirers on the track of St. Bernard, 
and soon learned that the novitiate 
was at Lyons. The name of the 
monastery is Notre Dame de toute 

After some preliminary correspon- 

dence with the abbess, the day was 
fixed for her to leave Ireland and set 
out to her land of promise. 

She came, of course, through Pa- 
ris. It was three years since we had 
met. I found her greatly altered; 
her beauty not gone, but changed. 
She looked, however, in much better 
health than I had ever seen her. 
Her spirits were gone, but there had 
come in their place a serenity that 
radiated from her like sunshine. We 
went out together to do some com- 
missions of hers and the better to 
escape interruption, for this was in 
all human probability to be our last 
meeting on earth, and we had much 
to say to each other. 

We drove first to Notre Dame des 
Victoires, where, at her constantly re- 
curring desire, I had been in the ha- 
bit of putting her name down for the 
prayers ot the confraternity, and we 
knelt once again side by side before 
the altar of our Blessed Lady. 

From this we went to the Sacre 
Coeur, where Mary was anxious to 
see some of her old mistresses and 
ask their prayers. ' Perseverance in 
her vocation, and the accomplish- 
ment of God's will in her and by her, 
were the graces she was never weary 
asking for herself, and imploring oth- 
ers to ask for her. Her greediness 
for prayers was only equalled by her 
intense faith in their efficacy. She 
could not resist catering for them, 
and used to laugh herself at her own 
importunity on this point. 

The sister who tended the gate 
gave us a cordial greeting ; but, when 
she heard that Mary was on her way 
to La Trappe, her surprise was al- 
most ludicrous. If her former pupil 
had said she was going to be a Mo- 
hammedan, it could not have called 
up more blank amazement than was 
depicted in the good sister's face on 
hearing her say that she was going 
to be a Trappistine. 


Mary Benedicta. 

The mistress of schools and anoth- 
er nun, who had been very kind to 
her during her short stay at the Sa- 
cred Heart, came to the parlor. I 
was not present at the interview, but 
Mary told me they were quite as 
much amazed as the sccur portiere. 

" It only shows what a character I 
left behind me," she said, laughing 
heartily as we walked arm in arm. 
" My turning out good for anything 
but mischief is a fact so miraculous 
that my best friends can hardly be- 
lieve in it !" 

It was during this long afternoon 
that she told me all the details of 
her vocation which I have already 
narrated. She seemed transcendent- 
ly happy, and so lifted by grace above 
all the falterings of nature as to be 
quite unconscious that she was about 
to make any sacrifice. She was ten- 
derly attached to her family, but the 
pangs of separation from them were 
momentarily suspended. Her soul 
had grown strong in detachment. It 
had grown to the hunger of divine 
love. Like the Israelites, she had 
gone out into the desert where the 
manna fell, and she had fed upon it 
till all other bread was tasteless to 

When I expressed surprise at see- 
ing her so completely lifted above 
human affections, and observed that 
it would save her so much anguish, 
she answered quickly, with a sudden 
look of pain: 

" Oh ! no it will save me none 
of the suffering. That will all come 
later, when the sacrifice is made. 
But I always seem to have superna- 
tural strength given me as long as it 
remains to be done. I took leave 
of Father Paul and my dear old 
nurse, and all the friends that flocked 
to say good-by, almost without a tear. 
I felt it so little that I was disgusted 
with myself for being so heartless 
while they were all so tender and 

distressed ; but when it was all over, 
and the carriage had driven out on 
the road, I thought my heart would 
burst. I didn't dare look back at 
the house, lest I should cry out to 
them to take me home. And I know 
this is how it will be to-morrow." 

" And have you thought of the 
possibility of having to come home 
after all ?" I asked. 

" Yes, I have a great deal of it. 
It is possible my health may fail, or 
that I may have mistaken the will 
of God altogether in entering La 
Trappe," she answered, with a cool- 
ness that astonished me. 

" What a trial that would be !" I 
exclaimed. " What a humiliation to 
come out, after making such a stand 
about entering !" 

She laughed quite merrily. 

" Humiliation ! And what if it 
were ! I don't care a straw if I go 
into ten convents, and come out of 
them one after another, ^o long as I 
find out the right one in the end. 
What does anything signify but find- 
ing out God's will !" 

There was no mistaking the perfect 
sincerity of her words. It was as 
clear as sunlight the one thing ne- 
cessary, the one thing she cared one 
straw about, was finding out the will 
of God. Human respect or any 
petty human motive had simply gone 
beyond the range of her apprehen- 

" And the silence, Mary ?" I said, 
smiling, as the memory of her old 
school-day troubles came back on 
me. " How will you ever keep it ? 
To me it would be the most appall- 
ing part of the discipline of La 

" Well, is it not odd ?" she replied. 
" It is so little appalling to me that I 
quite long for it. Sometimes I keep 
repeating the words, ' Perpetual si- 
lence !' over and over to myself, as if 
they were a melody. It was it, I 

Mary Benedict a. 


think, that decided me for La Trappe 
instead of Carmel, where the rule al- 
lows them to speak during recreation. 
It seems to me the hush of tongues 
must be such a help to union with 
God. Our tongues are so apt to 
scare away his presence from our 

We came home to dinner. While 
we were alone in the drawing-room, 
she asked me to play something to 
her. She had been passionately fond 
of the harp, and stood by me listen- 
ing with evident pleasure, and when 
I was done began to draw out the 
chords with her finger. 

" Does it not cost you the least lit- 
tle pang to give it up for ever never 
to hear a note of music for the rest 
of your life, Mary ?" I said. 

" No, not now. I felt it in the 
beginning; but the only music that 
has a charm for me now is silence." 

We parted, never to meet again, 
till we meet at the judgment-seat. 

On her arrival at Lyons, the fa- 
tigue and emotions of the journey told 
on her. An agonizing pain in the 
spine to which she was subject after 
any undue exertion obliged her to re- 
main at the hotel, lying down on the 
sofa nearly all day. 

The following morning, her father 
took her to the monastery. Like 
Abraham, he conducted his child to 
the mount of sacrifice, and with his 
own hand laid the victim on the al- 
tar; but no angel came to snatch 
away the sacrificial knife and substi- 
tute a meaner offering for the holo- 
caust. He left her at the inner 
gate of La Trappe. 

She wrote to me some weeks after 
her entrance. 

" I was less brave at parting with 
my beloved ones than I ought to 
have been," she said; "but, on ac- 
count of the pain that kept me lying 
down in the midst of them nearly all 
the previous day, I had not been 
VOL. xin. 15 

able to pray as much as usual, and 
so I had not got up strength enough 
for the trial-time. I seemed to have 
let go my hold on our Lord a little 
anji to be leaning on them for cour- 
age; but, when I had been a few 
hours before the Blessed Sacrament, 
the pain calmed down, and I began 
to realize how happy I was. I am 
in great hopes that I have found the 
will of God." 

One trifling incident which gave 
innocent delight to Mary I must not 
omit to mention. 

She was asked on entering what 
name she wished to bear in religion, 
and on her replying that she had not 
thought of one and would rather the 
prioress chose for her, " Then we 
shall call you Mary Benedicta," said 
the mother. " The saint has no name- 
sake amongst us at present." 

The only thing that disappointed 
her in the new life was the mildness 
of the rule and the short time it al- 
lotted for prayer ! 

It may interest my readers and 
help them to estimate the spirit of 
the novice to hear some details of 
the rule that struck her as too mild. 

The Trappistines rise at 2 A.M. 
winter and summer, and proceed to 
choir, chanting the Little Office of the 
Blessed Virgin. Mass, meditation, the 
recital of the divine office, and house- 
hold work, distributed to each ac- 
cording to her strength and aptitude 
and to the wants of the community, 
fill up the time till breakfast, which, 
is at 8. The rule relents in favor 
of those who are unable to bear the- 
long early fast, and they are allowed! 
a small portion of dry bread some 
hours sooner. I think the novices as 
a rule are included in this dispensa- 
tion. The second meal is at 2. The 
food is frugal but wholesome, good 
bread, vegetables, fish occasionally, 
and good, pure wine. Fire is an un- 
known luxury, except in the kitchen. 


Mary Benedict*. 

The silence is perpetual, but the nov- 
ices are allowed perfect freedom of 
converse with their mistress, and the 
professed nuns with the abbess. They 
converse occasionally during the day 
amongst each other by signs. They 
take open-air exercise, and perform 
manual labor out-of-doors, digging, 
etc. In-doors, they are constantly 
employed in embroidering and mount- 
ing vestments. Some of the most 
elaborately wrought benediction- 
veils, copes, chasubles, etc., used in 
the large churches throughout France, 
are worked by the Trappistines of 

They retire to rest at 8. Their 
clothing is of coarse wool, inside and 

Mary described the material life 
of La Trappe as in every sense de- 
lightful; the digging, pealing pota- 
toes, and so forth, as most recreative 
and not at all fatiguing. After her 
first Lent, she wrote me that it had 
passed so quickly, she " hardly knew 
it had begun when Easter came." 

Her only complaint was that it had 
been too easy, that the austerities, 
" which were at all times very mild," 
had not been more increased during 
the penitential season. 

My third letter was on her receiv- 
ing the holy habit. 

" I wish you could see me in it," 
she said. " I felt rather odd at first, 
but I soon grew accustomed to it, 
and now it is so light and pleasant. 
I am so happy in my vocation I can- 
not help being almost sure that I 
have found the will of God." 

This was the burden of her song 
for evermore : to find the will of God ! 
And so in prayer and expectation 
she kept her watch upon the tower, 
her hands uplifted, her ears and her 
eyes straining night and day for every 
sign and symbol of that blessed ma- 
nifestation. She kept her watch, 
faithful, ardent, never weary of watch- 

ing, rising higher and higher in love, 
sinking lower and lower in humility. 
She had set her soul like a ladder 
against the sky, and the angels were 
for ever passing up and down the 
rungs, carrying up the incense of the 
prayer, which, as soon as it reached 
the throne of the Lamb, dissolved in 
graces, and sent the angels flying 
down earthward again. 

The world went on ; the wheel 
went round; pleasure and folly and 
sin kept up their whirl with unabat- 
ing force. All things were the same 
as when Mary Benedicta, hearkening 
to the bell from the sanctuary, turned 
her back upon the vain delusion, and 
gave up the gauds of time for the 
imperishable treasures of eternity. 
Nothing was changed. Was it so 
indeed ? To our eyes it was. We 
could not see what changes were to 
come of it. We could not see the 
work her sacrifice was doing, nor 
measure the magnitude of the glory 
it was bringing to God. Poor fools ! 
it is always so with us. We see with 
the blind eyes of our body the things 
that are of the body. What do we see 
of the travail of humanity in God's 
creation ? The darkness and the pain. 
Little else. We see a wicked man 
or a miserable man, and we are fill- 
ed with horror or with pity. We think 
the world irretrievably darkened and 
saddened by the sin and the misery 
that we see, forgetting the counter- 
part that we do not see the sanctity 
and the beauty born of repentance 
and compassion. We see the bad 
publican flaunting his evil ways in 
the face of heaven, brawling in the 
streets and the market-place ; we do 
not see the good publican who goes 
up to the temple striking his breast, 
and standing afar off, and sobbing 
out the prayer that justifies. We for- 
get that fifty such climbing up to 
heaven make less noise than one sin- 
ner tearing down to hell. So with 

Mary Bcncdicta. 


pain. When sorrow crushes a man, 
turning his heart bitter and his wine 
sour, we find it hard to believe that 
so much gall can yield any honey, 
so much dark let in any light. We 
cannot see oh ! how it would startle 
us if we did how many acts of kind- 
ness, how many thoughts and deeds 
of love, are evoked by the sight of his 
distress. They may not be address- 
ed to him, and he may never know 
of them, though he has called them 
into life ; they may all be spent upon 
other men, strangers perhaps, to 
whom he has brought comfort be- 
cause of the kindliness his sorrow had 
stirred in many hearts. Some miser 
has been touched in hearing the tale 
of his distress, and straightway open- 
ed his purse to help the Lazarus at 
his own door. A selfish woman of 
the world has foregone some bauble 
of vanity and given the price to a 
charity to silence the twinge that pur- 
sued her after witnessing his patient 
courage in adversity. There is no 
end to the small change that one 
golden coin of love, one act of hero- 
ic faith, one chastened attitude of 
Christian sorrow, will send current 
through the world. It would be 
easier to number the stars than to 
count it all up. But the bright lit- 
tle silver pieces pass through our fin- 
gers unnoticed. We do not watch 
for them, neither do we hear them 
chime and ring as they drop all round 
us. We do not listen for them. We 
listen rather to the wailing and the 
hissing, hearkening not at all to the 
rustle of angels' wings floating above 
the din, nor to the sound of their crys- 
tal tears falling through the brine of 
human woe and lamentation. 

One more virgin heart is given up 
to the Crucified one more victory 
won over nature and the kingdom of 
this world. One more life is being 
lived away to God in the silence of 
the sanctuary. Who heeds it ? Who 

sees the great things that are com- 
ing of it ? the graces obtained, the 
blessings granted, the temptations 
conquered, the miracle of compas- 
sio'n won for some life-long sinner, at 
whose death-bed, cut off from priest 
or sacrament, the midnight watcher 
before the tabernacle has been wres- 
tling in spirit, miles away, with 
mountains and seas between them. 
Only when the seven seals are brok- 
en of the Book in which the secrets 
of many hearts are written shall these 
things be made manifest, and the 
wonders of sacrifice revealed. 

Mary Benedicta was drawing to 
the close of her novitiate. So far her 
health had stood the test bravely. 
She had passed the winters without a 
cough, a thing that had not happen- 
ed to her for years. The pain in her 
spine that had constantly annoyed 
her at home had entirely disappear- 

Every day convinced her more 
thoroughly that she had found her 
true vocation, and that she was " do- 
ing the will of God." Her profession 
was fixed for the month of December. 
She wrote to me a few lines, telling 
me of her approaching happiness, 
and begging me to get all the pray- 
ers I could for her. Her joy seemed 
too great for words. It was, indeed, 
the joy that passes human understand- 
ing. I did not hear from her again, 
nor of her, till one evening I received 
a letter from Ireland announcing to 
me her death. 

Till within a few days of the date 
fixed for her vows, she had been to 
all appearance in perfect health. She 
followed the rule in its unmitigated 
rigor, never asking nor seemingly 
needing any dispensation. She at- 
tended choir during the seven hours' 
prayer, mental and vocal, every day. 
There were no premonitory symp- 
toms of any kind to herald in the 
messenger that was at hand. Quite 


The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 

suddenly, one morning, at the first 
matins, she fainted away at her place 
in the choir. They carried her to 
the infirmary, and laid her on a bed. 
She recovered consciousness after a 
short time, but on attempting to rise 
fell back exhausted. The infirmarian, 
in great alarm, asked if she was 
suffering much. Mary smiled and 
shook her head. Presently she whis- 
pered a few words to the abbess, 
who had accompanied her from the 
choir, and never left her side for a 
moment. It was to ask that she 
might be allowed to pronounce her 
vows at once. 

Was this, then, the summons ? Yes. 
She was called for to go home. The 
joy-bells of heaven rang out a merry 
peal. The golden gates turned slow- 
ly on their hinges. The Bridegroom 
stood knocking at the door 

A messenger was dispatched in 
haste to the archbishop for permis- 
sion to solemnize her profession at 
once. Monseigneur Bonald granted 
it, and sent at the same time a spe- 
cial apostolic benediction to the dying 
child of St. Bernard. 

That afternoon Mary pronounc- 
ed her vows in the presence of 
the Blessed Sacrament, and surround- 
ed by the sisterhood, weeping and 

An hour later, summoning her re- 
maining strength for a last act of 
filial tenderness, she dictated a few 
lines of loving farewell to her father. 
Then she was silent, calm, and 
rapt in prayer. Her eyes never 
left the crucifix. The day past and 
the night. She was still waiting. 
At daybreak the Bridegroom entered, 
and she went home with him. 


THE most indefatigable student of 
the history of Ireland is, at some 
time or another, sure to become 
wearied of, if not positively disgusted 
at, the interminable series of foreign 
and domestic wars, base treachery, 
and wholesale massacre which un- 
fortunately stain the annals of that 
unhappy country for nearly one thou- 
sand years; and were it not that the 
study of profane history is a duty 
imposed upon us not only as an es- 

* The Lives of the Lord Chancellors and the 
Keepers of the Great Seal of Ireland, from the 
Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Victoria. 
By J. Roderick O'Flanagan, M.R.I.A. Two 
vols. pp. 555, 621. London : Longmans Green 
& Co. New York : The Catholic Publication 

sential part of our education, but as 
a source rich in the philosophy of 
human nature, there are few, we be- 
lieve, even among the most enthusi- 
astic lovers of their race or the most 
industrious of book-worms, who would 
patiently peruse the long and dreary 
record of persistent oppression and 
unfaltering but unavailing resistance. 
The few centuries of pagan great- 
ness preceding the arrival of St. 
Patrick, seen through the dim mist 
of antiquity, appear to have been 
periods of comparative national pros- 
perity ; and the earlier ages of Chris- 
tianity in the island were not only in 
themselves resplendent with the ef- 
fulgence of piety and learning which 

The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 


enshrouded the land and illumined 
far and near the then eclipsed nations 
of Europe, but were doubly brilliant 
by contrast with the darkness that 
subsequently followed the repeated 
incursions of the merciless northern 
Vikings, to whom war was a trade, 
and murder and rapine the highest 
of human pursuits. 

The ultimate defeat of those bar- 
barians in the early part of the 
eleventh century brought little or no 
cessation of misery to the afflicted 
people; for, with the death of the Con- 
queror, the illustrious King Brian, in 
the moment of victory, no man of 
sufficient statesmanship or military 
ability appeared who was capable 
of uniting the disorganized people 
under a general system of govern- 
ment, or of compelling the obedience 
of the disaffected and semi-indepen- 
dent chiefs. The evils of the pre- 
ceding wars were numerous and 
grievous. The husbandman was 
impoverished, commerce had fled 
the sea-ports before the dreaded 
standard of the carrion Raven, learn- 
ing had forsaken her wonted abodes 
for other climes and more peaceful 
Scenes, and even the religious estab- 
lishments which had escaped the de- 
stroyer no longer harbored those 
throngs of holy men and women 
formerly the glory and benefactors of 
the island. It was in this disinte- 
grated and demoralized condition 
that the enterprising Anglo-Normans 
of the following century found the 
once warlike *and learned Celtic 
people ; and as the new-comers were 
hungry for land and not overscru- 
pulous as to how it was to be ob- 
tained, the possession of the soil on 
one side, and its desperate but unor- 
ganized defence on the other, gave 
rise to those desultory conflicts, cruel 
reprisals, and horrible butcheries 
which only ended, after nearly five 
hundred years of strife, in the almost 

utter extirpation of the original 

Had the Norman invasion ended 
with Strongbovv and Henry II., or 
h#d it been more general and suc- 
cessful, as in England, the evil would 
have been limited; but as every de- 
cade poured into Ireland its hordes 
of ambitious, subtle, and landless ad- 
venturers, who looked upon Ireland 
as the most fitting place to carve 
their way to fame and fortune, new 
wars of extermination were foment- 
ed, and the wounds that afflicted the 
country were kept constantly open. 
To facilitate the designs of the new- 
comers, the mass of the people were 
outlawed, and the punishment for 
killing a native, when inflicted, which 
was seldom, was a small pecuniary 
fine. The efforts of the " Reform- 
ers " to convert by force or fraud 
the ancient race and the bulk of the 
descendants of the original Anglo- 
Normans, who vied with each other 
in their attachment to the church, per- X 
petuated even in a worse form the ci- 
vil strife which had so long existed be- 
tween the races, and terminated, at the 
surrender of Limerick, in the complete 
prostration of the nation. But it was 
only for a while. The extraordinary 
revival of the faith in Ireland, and 
its substantial triumphs in recent 
years, almost make us forget and 
forgive the persecutions of " the penal 
days," and not the least of these aus- 
picious results is the appearance of 
the noble book before us, written 
by a distinguished gentleman of the 
legal profession of the ancient race 
and religion. 

In his voluminous work, Mr. 
O'Flanagan, avoiding all matter for- 
eign to his subject, and touching as 
lightly on wars and confiscations as 
possible, while relating succinctly and 
carefully the lives of the numerous 
lord chancellors of Ireland, neces- 
sarily gives us a history of English 


The Lord Chancellors of Ireland, 

policy and legislation in that country 
in an entirely new form, and fills up 
in its historical and legal records 
a hiatus long recognized on both 
sides of the Atlantic. In ordinary 
histories, we see broadly depicted the 
effects of foreign invasion and do- 
mestic broils : in the Lives, we are per- 
mitted to have a view of the most 
secret workings of the viceregal gov- 
ernment and of the managers of the 
so-called Irish Parliament; of the 
causes which governed British states- 
men in their treatment of the sister 
kingdom, and the motive of every 
step taken by the dominant faction 
of the Pale, supported by the wealth 
and power of a great nation, to sub- 
due a weak neighboring people, who, 
though few in numbers, isolated and 
disorganized, possessed a high degree 
of civilization and a vitality that 
rose superior to all defeat. The 
book has also this advantage, that, 
while it supplies the links that bind 
v causes with effects and develops in 
a critical spirit the true philosophy 
of history, it neither shocks our sen- 
sibilities uselessly with the perpetual 
narration of mental and physical suf- 
fering, nor tires us with vain specula- 
tions on what might have been had 
circumstances been different. The 
author is content to accept the inev- 
itable, and deals exclusively with the 
subject in hand. 

The partial success of Strongbow 
in conjunction with the Leinster 
troops induced Henry II. to project 
a visit to Ireland, partly from a fear 
that his ambitious subject might be 
induced by the allurements of his 
newly acquired greatness to forget 
his pledge of fealty and allegiance, 
and partly in the hope that his pres- 
. ence with an armed retinue would so 
overawe the native princes that their 
entire submission would follow as a 
matter of course. He therefore 
landed at Waterford, in 1172, and 

after visiting Lismore, where a pro- 
vincial synod was being held, entered 
Dublin on the nth of November of 
that year. But though he remained 
in that city during the greater part of 
the winter, surrounded by all the 
pomp of mediaeval royalty, his blan- 
dishments were only partly success- 
ful in winning any of the prominent 
chieftains to acknowledge his as- 
sumed title of Lord of Ireland. He 
rested long enough, however, to es- 
tablish a form of provincial govern- 
ment for the guidance and protection 
of the Anglo-Normans, and such of 
the Irish of Dublin, Kildare, Meath, 
Wexford, and of the surrounding 
counties as acknowledged his ju- 
risdiction, and these became what 
was long afterwards known as the 
English Pale. The head of this sys- 
tem was the personal representative 
of the monarch, appointed and re- 
moved at his pleasure, and called at 
various times lord deputy, viceroy, 
chief governor, and lord-lieutenant, 
and in case of his absence or death 
a temporary successor was to be 
chosen by the principal nobles of the 
Pale, until his return or the appoint- 
ment of his successor by the king. 
In the year 1219, during the reign of 
Henry III., the laws of England 
were extended to the Anglo-Norman 
colony, and a chancellor in the person 
of John de Worchely was appointed 
to assist the viceroy in the adminis- 
tration of the laws and public affairs. 
The office of chancellor, or, as he 
was afterwards styted, lord high 
chancellor, was known to the Ro- 
mans, and many of its peculiar duties 
and powers are directly derived from 
the civil law. In England, its estab- 
lishment may be considered as con- 
temporary with the Norman conquest, 
and from the first it assumed the 
highest importance in the state. "The 
office of chancellor or lord keeper," 
says Blackstone, " is created by the 

The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 


mere delivery of the great seal into his 
custody, whereby he becomes the 
first officer in the kingdom and takes 
precedence of every temporal peer. 
He is a privy counsellor by virtue of 
his office, and, according to Lord 
Ellismore, prolocutor of the House 
of Lords by prescription. To him 
belongs the appointment of all the 
justices of the peace throughout the 
kingdom. Being formerly, usual- 
ly, an ecclesiastic presiding over the 
king's chapel, he became keeper of 
his conscience, visitor in his right of 
all hospitals and colleges of royal 
foundation, and patron of all his liv- 
ings under the annual value of twenty 
pounds, etc. All this exclusive of his 
judicial capacity in the Court of 
Chancery, wherein, as in the Exche- 
quer, is a common law court and a 
court of equity."* In Ireland, while 
the chancellor exercised the same 
functions within a more contracted 
sphere, his political power and duties 
were more directly and frequently felt. 
The viceroys, particularly those of 
the early periods, were generally 
soldiers expressly deputed to hold 
the conquests already gained, and to 
enlarge by force of arms the posses- 
sions of the Anglo-Norman adven- 
turers. They were little skilled in 
the arts of government, and, from 
their short terms and frequent remov- 
als, knew little of and cared less for 
the people they were temporarily 
sent to govern.* The chancellors, 
on the contrary, were the reverse, 
being from the first up to the reign 
of Henry VIII., with a few excep- 
tions, ecclesiastics, generally men 
well versed in law and letters, and 

* Com. on the Laws of England, p. 425 et seq. 

t Between 1172 and 1200, Ireland had no fewer 
than seventeen chief governors. In the thir- 
teenth century, they numbered forty-six: 
in the fourteenth, ninety-three ; in the fifteenth, 
eighty-five : in the sixteenth, seventy-six; in the 
seventeenth, seventy-nine ; and in the eighteenth, 
ninety-Jour. O ' Flanagan^ vol. i. p. 293. 

having been usually at an early age 
selected from the inferior ranks of 
the English clergy and promoted to 
the highest positions in the church in 
Ipeland, as a preliminary step to their 
appointment to the most important 
judicial and legislative office in the 
'colony, they had every inducement to 
become familiar with its affairs and 
with the dispositions and influence 
of the people among whom their lot 
in life was cast. " Learned men 
were those chancellors," says O'Flan- 
agan, " for the most part prelates of 
highly cultivated minds, attached to 
the land of their birth, while exercis- 
ing important sway over the destinies 
of Ireland." 

For the first two hundred years 
after the creation of the office of 
chancellor, very little can be gleaned 
by the author of the Lives, except 
the mere names, date of patents, and 
a few dry facts usually connected 
with well-known historical events. 
The destruction by fire of St. Mary's 
Abbey in Dublin, at the beginning of 
the fourteenth century, and of the 
Castle of Trim, in both of which val- 
uable public records were kept, ac- 
counts to some extent for this pauci- 
ty of materials, while, as he says, 
" others were carried out of the coun- 
try, and are met with in the State 
Paper Office, the Rolls Chapel, Re- 
cord Office, and British Museum, in 
London ; others are at Oxford. Se- 
veral cities on the Continent possess 
valuable Irish documents, while many 
are stored in private houses, which 
the recent commission will no doubt 
render available" a sad commentary 
upon the way in which everything 
relating to the history of the country 
has been neglected by that govern- 
ment which so frequently parades its 
paternal inclinations. 

The want of judicial business dur 
ing this period was amply compensat- 
ed for by reoeated but vain efforts 


The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 

jo reconcile the different factions into 
which the colonists of the Pale were 
divided, and to prevent the followers 
of the rival houses of Ormond and 
Kildare from open warfare whenever 
the slightest provocation was offered 
by either side. While the power of 
England was expended in foreign 
wars or in the internecine struggles 
of the Roses, her grasp on the do- 
minion of Ireland was becoming 
every day more relaxed, and it was 
only by the judicious pitting of one 
party against another, by alternate 
threats and bribes, that even the sem- 
blance of authority could be maintain- 
ed at all times. Thus, in 1355, Ed- 
ward III., writing to the Earl of Kil- 
dare, uses the following emphatic 
words : 

" Although you know of these invasions, 
destructions, or dangers, and. have been 
often urged to defend these marches 
jointly with others, you have neither sped 
thither nor sent that force of men which 
you were strongly bound to have done 
for the honor of an earl, and for the safe- 
ty of those lordships, castles, lands, and 
tenaments, which, given and granted to 
your grandfather by our grandfather, have 
thus descended to you. Since you neither 
endeavor to prevent the perils, ruin, and 
destruction threatening these parts, in 
consequence of your neglect, nor attend 
to the orders of ourselves or our council, 
we shall no longer be trifled with," etc. 

This was strong language, but fully 
justified by the unsettled condition 
of affairs in and outside the Pale. 
Chancellor de Wickford, Archbishop 
of Dublin, who was appointed in 
1375, found that his sacred calling 
and official dignity were no protec- 
tion to him even in the vicinity of 
the capital, and was therefore allow- 
ed a guard of six men-at-arms and 
twelve archers, while the lord treas- 
urer had the same number. Nor 
was this precaution taken against the 
Irish enemy alone, for we find that 
Thomas de Burel, Prior of Kilmain- 

ham, when chancellor, while holding 
a parley with De Bermingham at 
Kildare, was, with his attendant lords, 
taken prisoner. The lay noblemen 
were ransomed, but the prior was kept 
a prisoner only to be exchanged for 
one of the De Berminghams then 
confined in Dublin Castle. This fa- 
mily seem to have held the judicial 
officers somewhat in contempt, for 
we read at another time that Adam 
Veldom, Chief Chancery Clerk, was 
captured by them and the O'Connors, 
and obliged to pay ten pounds in sil- 
ver for his release. When John Cot- 
ton, Dean of St. Patrick's, was appoint- 
ed chancellor in 1379, an ^ com- 
menced his tour, accompanied by the 
viceroy, from Dublin to Cork, he 
was allowed for his personal retinue, 
independent of his servants and 
clerks, not very formidable oppo- 
nents, it is to be presumed, " four 
men-at-arms armed at all points, and 
eight mounted archers," a circum- 
stance which shows that the Irish 
and many of the Anglo-Irish of the 
country had very little reverence for 
the person of even an English chan- 

In 1398, Dr. Thomas Cranley was 
sent over to Dublin as its archbi- 
shop and chancellor of the colony, 
and from his high position and known 
ability it was expected that he would 
not only remedy the disorders of the 
Pale, but bring back the great lords to 
a sense of their duty to the king, and 
devise measures for the collection of 
his revenues, which these noblemen 1 
did not seem inclined to pay with 
the alacrity befitting obedient sub- 
jects. After several years of fruit- 
less endeavors to effect these objects, 
he was obliged to write to King Hen- 
ry IV. for funds to support his son, 
who was then acting as viceroy. 
" With heavy hearts," says the chan- 
cellor, speaking for the privy council, 
" we testify anew to your highness that 

The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 


our lord, your son, is so destitute of 
money that he has not a penny in the 
world, nor can borrow a single pen- 
ny, because all his jewels and his 
plate that he can spare of those that 
he must of necessity have, are pledg- 
ed and be in pawn. All his soldiers 
have departed from him, and the peo- 
ple of his household are on the point 
of leaving him." And he further signi- 
ficantly adds, " For the more full de- 
claring of these matters to your high- 
ness, three or two of us should have 
come to your high presence, but such 
is the danger on this side that not 
one of us dare depart from the person 
of our lord." This was indeed a sad 
condition for the son of the reigning 
monarch and his council to find 
themselves in, while the Talbots, 
Butlers, and Fitzgeralds were feasting 
on the fat of the land surrounded by 
thousands of their well-paid followers. 
Again, in 1435, wn en Archbishop 
Talbot was chancellor, the council 
through that prelate addressed a 
memorial to the king, in which the 
following remarkable passage occurs : 

" First, that it please our sovereign 
lord graciously to consider how this land 
of Ireland is well-nigh destroyed and in- 
habited with his enemies and rebels, in- 
somuch that there is not left in the north- 
ern parts of the counties of Dublin, 
Meath, Louth, and Kildare, that join to- 
gether out of subjection of the said ene- 
mies and rebels, scarcely thirty miles in 
length and twenty miles in breadth, as a 
man may surely ride or go, in the said 
counties, to answer to the king's writs 
and to his commandments." 

This extraordinary admission, made 
two hundred and sixty-six years after 
the landing of the Normans, would 
be almost incredible did it rest on 
less weighty authority. This was the 
time for the Irish people to have re- 
gained their freedom, and, had they 
had half as much of the spirit of na- 
tionality and organization as they 

possessed of valor and endurance, 
a decisive blow might easily have 
been struck that would have for ever 
ended the English power in their 
irtand. But the propitious moment 
was allowed to pass, and dearly did 
they pay in aftertimes for their su- 
pineness and folly. 

The dissensions were not confined 
to the natives. The quarrels and 
bickerings of the nobles and officials 
of the Pale seemed to invite destruc- 
tion. Rival parliaments were held ; 
viceroys who were attached by poli- 
cy or affection to the houses of York 
and Lancaster contended in the Cas- 
tle of Dublin for the legitimacy of 
their respective factions ; and even the 
Lord Chancellor Sherwood, Bishop 
of Meath, and the members of the pri- 
vy council, whose office and duty it 
was to preserve the peace between all 
parties, were found the most turbu- 
lent ; " the chancellor and chief- 
justice of the king's bench requiring 
the interposition of the king to keep 
them quiet, while the Irish so press- 
ed upon the narrow limits of the 
English settlements that the statute re- 
quiring cities and boroughs to be re- 
presented by inhabitants of the same 
was obliged to be repealed upon the 
express ground that representatives 
could not be expected to encounter, on 
their journeys to parliament, the great 
perils incident from the king's Irish 
enemies and English rebels, for it is 
openly known how great and fre- 
quent mischiefs have been done on 
the ways both in the south, north, 
east, and west parts, by reason where- 
of they may not send proctors, 
knights, nor burgesses." * Such was 
the condition of Ireland in A.D. 1480, 
just three centuries after the advent 
of Henry II. to her shores. 

One of the principal duties of the 
Irish lord chancellors, even to the 

* O'Flanagan, vol. i. p. 130. 


The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 

very moment of its extinction, was 
the management of the Irish parlia- 
ment. The body that for so many 
centuries bore that pretentious title, 
but which never spoke the voice of 
even a respectable minority of the 
people, is said to have owed its ori- 
gin to the second Henry, though ac- 
cording to Whiteside, who follows 
the authority of Sir John Davies, no 
parliament was held in the country 
for one hundred and forty years after 
that king's visit. * Except in an 
antiquarian point of view, the matter 
is of little importance, as such gath- 
erings in Ireland, even more so than 
those of England, could not at that 
time be called either representative 
or deliberative bodies, for their mem- 
bers were not chosen by even a 
moiety of the people, and they were 
mere instruments in the hands of 
the governing powers, who moulded 
them at will when they desired to 
impose new taxes or unjust laws on 
the people, ostensibly with their own 
sanction. From the days of Simon 
de Montfort to those of George IV., 
the English parliamentary system 
has been an ingeniously devised en- 
gine of general oppression under the 
garb of popular government. 

Of the ancient parliaments, the 
most famous was that held at Kil- 
kenny during the chancellorship of 
John Trowyk, Prior of St. John, in 
1367, at which was passed the statute 
bearing the name of that beautiful 
city. Though the name only of the 
chancellor, who doubtless was the 
author ex officio, has come down to 
us, that delectable specimen of Eng- 
lish legislation is doubtless destined 
to survive the changes of time, and 
expire only with the language itself. 
It prohibited marriage, gossipred, and 
fostering between the natives and 

* Life and Death of the Irish Parliament. By 
the Right Hon. James Whiteside, CJ. 

the Anglo-Irish under penalty of 
treason, also selling to the former 
upon any condition horses, armor, 
or victuals, under a like penalty. All 
persons of either nationality living 
in the Pale were to use the English 
language, names, customs, dress, and 
manner of riding. No Irishman was 
to be admitted to holy orders, nor 
was any minstrel, story-teller, or 
rhymer to be harbored. English on 
the borders should hold no parley 
with their Irish neighbors, except by 
special permission, nor employ them 
in their domestic wars. Irish games 
were not to be indulged in, but should 
give place to those of the English, 
as being more " gentlemanlike 
sports." Any infraction of these pro- 
visions was to be punished with ri- 
gor, for, says the preamble to the 
act, " many of the English of Ire- 
land, discarding the English tongue, 
manners, style of riding, laws, and 
usages, lived and governed them- 
selves according to the mode, fash- 
ion, and language of the Irish ene- 
mies," etc., whereby the said " Irish 
enemies were exalted and raised up 
contrary to reason." This enactment 
is perhaps without a parallel in the 
history of semi-civilized legislation, 
if we except that passed at a parlia- 
ment held at Trim in 1447, and for 
which we are indebted to no less a 
person than the Archbishop of Dub- 
lin, lord chancellor at that period. 
It enacts " that those who would be 
taken for Englishmen (that is, within 
the protection of law) should not 
wear a beard on the upper lip ; that 
the said lip should be shaved once at 
least in every two weeks, and that 
offenders therein should be treated 
as Irish enemies." As no provision 
was inserted in the statute providing 
for the supply of razors, or mention 
made of the appointment of state 
barbers, we presume it soon became 

The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 

By such penal legislation it was 
weakly supposed the evils of the 
country could be cured most effec- 
tually, but, unfortunately for the law- 
makers, it was easier to pass statutes 
than to enforce them. On the mass of 
the people they had no effect what- 
ever, except, perhaps, to bind them 
faster to their ancient laws and cus- 
toms, and he would have been a bold 
officer indeed who would have at- 
tempted to carry them out,even among 
the Anglo-Irish families outside of 
the Pale ; for we find that, at a parlia- 
ment held in Dublin in 1441, under 
the supervision of Archbishop Talbot, 
a strong request was made to the 
king to furnish troops for the defence 
of the colony, the privy council 
having some time previously repre- 
sented " that the king should ordain 
that the Admiral of England should, 
in summer season, visit the coasts of 
Ireland to protect the merchants 
from the Scots, Bretons, and Spa- 
niards, who came thither with their 
ships stuffed with men of war in 
great numbers, seizing the merchants 
of Ireland, Wales, and England, and 
'holding them to ransom." * 
" The selfish but sagacious policy 
of Henry VII. had done so much 
to remedy the evils inflicted on Eng- 
land by the wars of the Roses that 
when his son, Henry VIII., ascend- 
ed the throne in 1509, he found a 
united and contented people, a well- 
filled treasury, and a subservient par- 
liament. The character of this no- 
torious ruler is too well known to 
need comment, and the effects of his 
crimes are still perceptibly felt by 
the country that had the misfortune 
to have given him birth. His influ- 
ence on Irish affairs, though more 
disastrous in its immediate results, 
has happily long since been oblite- 
rated. Dr. Rokeby, Bishop of Meath, 

and afterward Archbishop of Dublin, 
first appointed chancellor in 1498, 
was retained in his office by the new 
king. He is represented as a man 
of> marked piety and learning, but 
he would have been unfitted to fill 
an office under the English crown 
had he allowed any scruples of con- 
science to stand between him and 
the behests of his royal master. 
What these were may be judged from 
a passage in a private letter from 
Henry to his viceroy. " Now," he 
writes, " at the beginning, political 
practices may do more good than 
exploits of war, till such time as the 
strength of the Irish enemy shall be 
enfeebled and diminished ; as well by 
getting their captains from them, as 
by putting division among them, so 
that they join not together " * an 
advice eminently suggestive, but by 
no means new, for the policy of ar- 
raying the Irish against each other 
had been practised long before with 
fatal effect. Rokeby held the great 
seal for twenty-one years, and his 
long term was marked by his suc- 
cessful efforts to reconcile the hostile 
Anglo-Irish factions, his negotiations 
with the native chiefs, for the purpose 
of inducing them to acknowledge the 
sovereignty of Henry, and the con- 
sequent extension of the functions 
of the courts over the greater part 
of the island. The success of the 
first and last of these measures was 
mainly due to the personal efforts of 
the lord chancellor, and the sub- 
mission of the Irish party resulted 
from the loss of the battle of Knock- 
tough, in 1504, and the favorable 
promises held out by the chancellor 
and viceroy, inducements, it is need- 
less to say, which were never fulfilled. 
He was succeeded by the two St. Law- 
rences, father and son, of whom no- 
thing notable is recorded, but that 

* Gilbert's Viceroys of Ireland. 

* State Pafers, temp. Henry VIII. 


The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 

they were laymen and natives of the 
soil ; and by Archbishop Ingle, who, 
however, held office for but one 

The next ecclesiastical chancellor 
was Dr. Alan, commissioned in 1528. 
This distinguished official was re- 
markable not only for his great men- 
tal capacity, but as a not unfavorable 
sample of the English political church- 
men of the era immediately preced- 
ing the so-called " Reformation " 
men who, by their laxity of faith 
and worldly ambition, paved the way 
for the subsequent grand march of 
heresy and immorality. Born in 
England in 1476, he studied with 
credit both at Oxford and Cambridge, 
and at an early age entered the 
priesthood. His varied acquirements 
and experience of mankind gained 
him, in 1515, the degree of doctor 
of laws and the confidence of the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, then Lord 
Chancellor of England, by whom he 
was sent to Rome on a special mis- 
sion. On his return, he was appoint- 
ed chaplain to Cardinal Wolsey, and 
judge of his legantine court. In 
both capacities he appears to have 
given satisfaction, particularly in the 
latter, in which he materially assisted 
the ambitious cardinal in suppressing 
certain monasteries, and appropriat- 
ing the revenues, it is more than sus- 
pected, to his own and his patron's 
use. For these services he was re- 
warded with the archbishopric of 
Dublin and the Irish chancellor- 
ship. His two great vices, avarice 
and the love of intrigue, became 
now fully developed. When not 
begging for increase of salary or 
emoluments, he was writing scanda- 
lous letters to his friends at the Eng- 
lish court, complaining of the con- 
duct of the viceroy, the unfortunate 
Earl of Kildare, and it was mainly 
through his instrumentality, supported 
by Wolsey, that that nobleman was 

called to England and committed 
to the Tower of London. His next 
step was to circulate a false report 
that the earl had been executed. This 
led, as he anticipated, to the rebel- 
lion of Kildare's son and deputy, 
better known as Silken Thomas, and 
a number of Irish chiefs with whom 
the Fitzgeralds were allied, and, upon 
its suppression, to the confiscation of 
vast estates in- Leinster and Munster. 
But Alan did not live long enough 
to behold the result of his sanguinary 
policy. Alarmed at the storm he 
had raised, he endeavored to escape 
from the country, but the elements 
seem to have conspired against him, 
for he was cast ashore near Clontarf, 
and, on being discovered by some of 
Thomas's followers, he was put to 
death. He was succeeded as chan- 
cellor by Cromer, Archbishop of 
Armagh, who was, however, shortly 
after deprived of his office for his 
unflinching opposition to Henry's ab- 
surd pretensions of being considered 
" Head of the Church." It was of 
this prelate that Browne, the king's 
Archbishop of Dublin, wrote to Lord 
Henry Cromwell, in 1635, " that he 
had endeavored, almost to the haz- 
zard and danger of his temporal life, 
to procure the nobility and gentry of 
this nation to due obedience in own- 
ing his highness their supreme head, 
as well spiritual as temporal ; and do 
find much oppugning therein, espe- 
cially by his brother Armagh, who 
hath beene the main oppugner, and 
so hath withdrawn most of his suf- 
ragans and clergy within his see and 
diocese." * 

Unable to coerce or cajole the 
Pope, Henry at length threw down 
the gauntlet to the Holy Father, and, 
emboldened doubtless by the ready 
submission of the English, resolved 
to enforce his new ideas of religion 

* Ware's Life of Browne. 

The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 


on the people of Ireland. The par- 
liament of that country, pliant as 
ever, voted him king of Ireland and 
head of the church, and would as 
willingly have conferred on him any 
other title, no matter ho\v far-fetched 
or absurd, had he desired it. Arch- 
bishop Browne, of Dublin, was a 
Christian after the king's own heart, 
and, in his way, as consistent and as 
zealous a reformer; and with the 
chancellor, Lord Trimblestown, at 
the laboring-oar, the task of convert- 
ing the Irish to the new faith was 
considered quite easy. Here and 
there a stubborn recusant was an- 
ticipated, but were there not monas- 
teries and nunneries enough to be 
confiscated, and lands and revenues 
to be given away, to satisfy those be- 
nighted adherents to the old faith ? 
A grand tour of proselytism through- 
out the country was therefore pro- 
jected, and the lord chancellor, the 
archbishop, and the other members 
of the privy council sallied out, ac- 
companied by their men-at-arms, 
procurants, clerks, and retainers, to 
expound the Gospel according to 
King Henry, and to enforce their 
doctrines, if all else failed, by the 
carnal weapons of the lash and 
halter. They visited in succession 
Carlow, Kilkenny, Ross, Wexford, 
and Waterford, where they are mind- 
ful to acknowledge " they were well 
entertained." The archbishop on 
Sundays " preached the word of God, 
having very good audience, and pub- 
lished the king's injunctions and the 
king's translation of the Pater Noster, 
Ave Maria, the Articles of Faith, and 
the Ten Commandments in English," 
while on week-days the chancellor 
took his share of the good work ; for, 
continues the report, " the day fol- 
lowing we kept the sessions there 
(Waterford) both for the city and the 
shire, where was put to execution 
four felons, accompanied by another. 

a friar, whom, among the residue, we 
commanded to be hanged in his 
habit, and so to remain upon the 
gallows for a mirror to all his breth- 
reft to live truly." * This judicious 
mixture of preaching and hanging, 
the Lord's Prayer and the statute of 
Kilkenny, it was thought, would 
have a salutary effect on the souls 
and bodies of unbelievers, and was a 
fitting form of introducing the Refor- 
mation to the consideration of the 
Irish people. 

The war on the faith of the nation 
having been thus openly and auspi- 
ciously inaugurated, we must hence- 
forth look upon the chancellors of 
Ireland not only as the persistent 
defenders of the English interest in 
that country, but as the most danger- 
ous because the most insidious and 
influential enemies of Catholicity. 

Sir John Alan was appointed chan- 
cellor in 1539, and in the following 
year we find him at the head of a 
royal commission for the suppression 
of religious houses. The authority 
to the commissioners sets forth, with 
a mendacity never surpassed in a 
state paper, and rarely paralleled, 
even in the worst days of anti-Catho- 
lic persecution, the following pre- 
texts for striking a deadly blow at 
the bulwarks of charity, religion, and 
learning : 

"That from information of trustworthy 
persons, it being manifestly apparent 
that the monasteries, abbies, priories, and 
other places of religious or regulars in 
Ireland are, at present, in such a state 
that in them the praise of God and the 
welfare of man are next to nothing re- 
garded, the regulars and others dwelling 
there being addicted, partly to their own 
superstitious ceremonies, partly to the 
pernicious worship of idols, and to the 
pestiferous doctrines of the Roman Pon- 
tiff, that unless an effectual remedy be 
promptly provided, not only the weak 

* State Papers, vol. iii. p. 108. 


The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 

lower order, but the whole Irish people, 
may be speedily infected to their total 
destruction by the example of these per- 
sons. To prevent, therefore, the longer 
continuance of such religious men and 
nuns in so damnable a state, the king, 
having resolved to resume into his own 
hands all the monasteries and religious 
houses, for their better reformation, to re- 
move from them the religious men and 
women, and cause them to return to some 
honest mode of living, and to true 
religion, directs the commissioners to 
signify this his intention to the heads of 
religious houses," etc.* 

It is unnecessary to say that this 
measure of wholesale spoliation was 
promptly and thoroughly carried out. 
The thousand ruins that dot the 
island attest it, and the title-deeds of 
many a nobleman's broad acres bear 
date no earlier than this edict of the 
greatest monster that ever disgraced 
the British throne. 

From this time forth, the lord 
chancellors found their best passport 
to royal favor in devising measures 
for the destruction of the popular 
faith. Being generally needy adven- 
turers, with nothing but their legal 
knowledge and facile consciences to 
begin the world with, they neither 
loved the country nor respected the 
people, and their titles and wealth 
depended simply on their zeal for 
Protestantism. Of the hundreds of 
penal laws which disgrace the sta- 
tute-book of the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries, every one of them 
owes its inception and enactment to 
one or another of those subtle-mind- 
ed officials who, as the head of the 
lords, president of the privy council, 
and the dispenser of vast judicial 
and executive patronage, had a po- 
tent influence in all public affairs. 
They continued industriously to car- 
ry out the designs of Henry during 

* Morrin's Cal. vol. i. p. 55. 

the successive reigns of his worthy 
daughter Elizabeth, the Stuarts, Wil- 
liam, Anne, and the House of Bruns- 
wick. Even when the fears of foreign 
invasion in 1760, and the noble re- 
s'stance of the fathers of our repub- 
lic some years later, had awakened 
the fears of the British authorities 
and induced them to relax somewhat 
the chains of the Catholics, the voice 
of the lord chancellors was still for 
war. Apart, however, from this spi- 
rit of intolerance which seemed to 
be naturally attached to the office, it 
must be confessed that from the days 
of Henry the great seal was held by 
many able lawyers and distinguished 
statesmen, some of whom were not 
unknown in the world of letters as 
authors and liberal patrons of learn- 
ing and science. The names of 
Curwan, Loftus (who founded Tri- 
nity College University), Boyle, Por- 
ter, Butler, Cox, Broderick, Bowles, 
and many others, occupy honored 
positions in the legal annals of Great 
Britain and Ireland, and their lives, 
full of incident and variety, are fully 
and fairly placed before us by Mr. 

The treaty of union in 1800, by 
which Ireland lost her parliament, 
and legislatively became a province, 
deprived the Irish chancellors of 
much of their original political pow- 
er ; though, strange as it may appear, 
this object was effected mainly through 
the exertions of Lord Clare, who at 
that time held the office. In this 
man's character, distinguished as it 
was for many private virtues, and 
for every public vice that it is possi- 
ble to conceive, were united the good 
and bad qualities of all his predeces- 
sors, joined to a wonderful mental 
capacity which far surpassed them 
all. Born in Ireland, he was of Eng- 
lish extraction and more than Eng- 
lish in feeling, and, though of an ex- 
emplary Catholic stock, he was the 

The Lord Chancellors of Ireland. 


son of an apostate clerical student, a 
most violent Protestant and a rancor- 
ous proscriptionist. A profound ju- 
rist and an upright judge in pure- 
ly legal matters, his anti-Catholic pre- 
judices seemed totally to have warp- 
ed his judgment whenever the ques- 
tion of religion presented itself, and, 
though a steadfast friend in private 
of those who agreed with or did not 
care to differ from him, he never fail- 
ed to carry into official life the ha- 
treds and animosities engendered in 
political struggles or domestic inter- 
course. A powerful orator, full of 
strong legal points, logical proposi- 
tions, and keen, and sometimes coarse, 
sarcasm, he ruled his party with a 
rod of iron, and, when persuasion 
and threats failed, he hesitated not 
to use bribes and cajolery. His men- 
tal energy was equal to any amount 
of labor, and his physical courage 
was beyond question, even in a 
country and age where bravery was 
ranked among the highest of virtues. 
Such was John Fitzgibbon, first Earl 
of Clare, born near Dublin in 1749, 
a man pre-eminently fitted by Provi- 
dence to adorn his country and bene- 
fit mankind, but who perverted his 
great gifts and employed them with 
too much success in destroying that 
country's remnant of independence, 
and in devising new methods of per- 
secution for his Catholic relatives 
and countrymen. He died in the 
plenitude of his power in 1802 ; his 
name when mentioned is reprobated 
by all good men in the nation he be- 
trayed ; his title, so ingloriously won, 
is extinct ; and his bench in Chancery 
and his seat in the House of Lords 
are filled by one of that race and 
creed which he so cordially detested 

and so ruthlessly persecuted. * Sic 
transit gloria mundi. 

Mr. O'Flanagan brings down his 
Lives to the time of George IV., but 
thft latter portion of his valuable col- 
lection of biographies belongs more 
to the domain of law than of history. 
Indeed, the entire work is full of cu- 
rious and interesting information 
which will be highly prized by the 
legal profession. What the late Lord 
Campbell has done so well for the 
English chancellors, the author has 
endeavored to do for those of Ire- 
land, and with equal success, not- 
withstanding the scarcity of materials 
and the loose manner in which the 
Irish records have been kept. One 
of the most attractive features of this 
book is the total absence of passion 
or prejudice in the narrative of events 
and estimation of character; but every 
necessary circumstance is detailed in 
a plain, lucid, and intelligible style, 
and with something of judicial gravi- 
ty and impartiality befitting so impor- 
tant a subject. As far as the au- 
thor's own political predilections are 
concerned and we suspect that they 
are by no means intensely national 
the tone of the book may be said to 
be colorless, a peculiarity in modern 
biography which, while it may de- 
tract from its vivacity, will certain- 
ly add much weight to its value 
as an authority. We are promised 
a sequel to the chancellors, contain- 
ing the lives of the lord chief-justices, 
which we hope will soon appear, for 
the more light that is shed on those 
darkened pages of Ireland's history, 
the better for the cause of truth, jus- 
tice, and humanity. 

*John O'Hagan, the present Lord High Chan- 
cellor of Ireland. 

240 Gottfried -von Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin. 


THE period of the German Minne- 
singer, dating from about the middle 
of the thirteenth to the middle of 
the fourteenth century, witnessed 
probably the intensest and sin- 
cerest devotion to the worship of 
the Virgin Mary in the whole history 
of the Catholic Church. Intense 
and sincere pre-eminently, because 
so expressed in the vast number of 
paintings and poems in her glorifica- 
tion whereof we have record. That 
whole period, indeed, was one of fer- 
vent religious feeling, stimulated by 
the Crusades, and naturally choosing 
the Virgin for the chief object of 
worship, as the whole knightly spir- 
it of that age was one of devotion 
to woman. The pure love for 
Minne is pure love of woman has 
never, in the history of literature, 
been so exclusively made the topic 
of poetry as it was during that cen- 
tury of the Minnesinger; it is the 
absorbing theme of the almost two 
hundred poets of that time, of whom 
we have poems handed down to us, 
and its highest expression was at- 
tained in those poems that were ad- 
dressed to the woman of all women, 
Mary, the mother of Jesus. 

The German language in the thir- 
teenth century had attained a devel- 
opment which fitted it pre-eminent- 
ly for lyric poetry in all its branches. 
What it has since gained in other 
respects it has lost in sweet music of 
sound. Furthermore, the true laws 
of rhythm, metre, and verse for 
modern languages, as distinguished 
from the rules that governed classic 
poetry, had been discovered and 
fixed ; rules and laws the knowledge 

whereof subsequently was lost, and 
which it gave Goethe so much trou- 
ble, as he tells us in his autobiogra- 
phy, to find again. The purity of 
rhyme has never since in German 
poetry attained the same degree of 
perfection, not even under the skil- 
ful hand of Rueckert and Platen, 
which the Minnesinger gave to it; 
and thus altogether those matters, 
which constitute the mechanism of 
poetry, were in fullest bloom. 

Now this mechanism and the won- 
derful language which it operated 
upon being in the possession and 
under the full control of such men as 
were the poets of that day, the re- 
sult could be only poems of perfect 
form, and yet at the same time na'ive, 
earnest, intense, a.:d enthusiastic in 
their character. For those poets 
were not like those of our modern 
poets who have completest control of 
the mechanism of poetry, as Tenny- 
son, Swinburne, etc. poets of a cold, 
reflective bent of mind, but they 
were simple knights, with great en- 
thusiasm in the cause of the Crusades 
and of ladies ; at the same time gifted 
with a wondrous power of versifica- 
tion. A considerable number of 
them, some of the best, as Wolfram 
von Eschenbach, Ulrich von Lich- 
tenstein, etc., could not even write 
and read, and had to dictate their 
poems to their Singerlein, or sing it 
to him for these poets invented a 
melody for each of iheir poems 
which Singerlein again transmitted 
it in the same manner until, in 
the course of time, these unwritten 
Minnelieder were, as much as possi- 
ble, gathered together by the noble 

Gottfried von Strassburg s Great Hymn to the Virgin. 241 

knight, Ruediger von Manasse, his 
son, and the Minnesinger, Johann 
Hadlaub, put into manuscript, and 
thus happily preserved for future gen- 

The songs that these Minnesingers 
sang are of a threefold character: 
either in praise of the ladies, usually 
coupled with references to the sea- 
sons of the year ; or of a didactic 
character ; or, finally, in praise of the 

Their form is only twofold : either 
they are lays or songs proper. The 
song or Minnelied proper has inva- 
riably a triplicity of form in each stan- 
za, that is, each stanza has three parts, 
whereof the first two correspond with 
each other exactly, whereas the third 
has an independent, though of course 
rhythmically connected, flow of its 
own. The lay, on the contrary, 
is of irregular construction, and per- 
mits the widest rhythmical liberties. 

Of the many Minnelieder address- 
ed to the Virgin we have presented 
to us examples of both kinds, lays 
and songs. Chief among them are 
a lay by Walther von der Vogelweide, 
and the Great Hymn by Gottfried 
von Strassburg. 

The latter is probably the finest 
of all the Minnelieder worldly and 
sacred of that period. Ranking 
next to these two there is, however, 
another poem to the Virgin, not to 
be classified strictly under the gene- 
ral title of Minnelieder, but still the 
production of a famous Minnesinger, 
and withal a poem of wondrous beau- 
ty, which for two centuries kept its 
hold upon the people. This is Kon- 
rad vonWuerzburg's Golden Smithy- 
a poem that is written in the metre 
jf the narrative poem of that age, 
namely, in lines wherein every line 
ending in a masculine rhyme has 
four accentuations and every line 
ending in a female rhyme has three 
accentuations, the syllables not being 

VOL. XIII. 16 

counted a metre that Coleridge has 
adopted in his poem Christabel. 

In this Golden Smithy the poet re- 
presents himself as a goldsmith, work- 
ing all manner of precious stones and 
gold into a glorious ornament for the 
Queen of Heaven, by gathering into 
his poem all possible images and si- 
miles from the world of nature, from 
sacred and profane history and fable, 
and from all the virtues and graces 
of mankind. It is a poem of won- 
derful splendor, and has a great 
smoothness of diction. " If," says 
the poet in the opening of the poem, 
"in the depth of the smithy of my 
heart I could melt a poem out of 
gold and could enamel the gold with 
the glowing ruby of pure devotion, I 
would forge a transparent, shining, 
and sparkling praise of thy worth, 
thou glorious empress of heaven. 
Yet, though my speech should fly 
upward like a noble eagle, the wings 
of my words could not carry me be- 
yond thy praise ; marble and ada- 
mant shall be sooner penetrated by a 
straw, and the diamond by molten 
lead, than I attain the height of the 
praise that belongs to thee. Not un- 
til all the stars have been counted 
and the dust of the sun and the sand 
of the sea and the leaves of the trees, 
can thy praise be properly sung." 

But even this poem is far surpass- 
ed in beauty every way by Gottfried 
von Strassburg's Great Hymn. In- 
deed, Konrad himself modestly con- 
fesses this in his Golden Smithy, when 
he regrets that he does not " sit upon 
the green clover bedewed with sweet 
speech, on which sat worthily Gott- 
fried von Strassburg, who, as a most 
artistic smith, worked a golden poem, 
and praised and glorified the Holy 
Virgin in much better strain." 

There is, indeed, a wondrous beau- 
ty in this hymn of Gottfried von 
Strassburg, a beauty much akin to 
that of his own Strassburg Cathedral, 

242 Gottfried von Strassburgs Great Hymn to tJie Virgin. 

which was begun about the same 

" It is," says Van der Hagen, " the 
very glorification of love (Minne) 
and of Minnesong ; it is the heaven- 
ly bridal song, the mysterious Solo- 
mon's Song, which mirrors its miracu- 
lous object in a stream of deep and 
lovely images, linking them all to- 
gether into an imperishable wreath ; 
yet even here in its profundity and 
significance of an artistic and numer- 
ously-rhymed construction ; always 
clear as crystal, smooth and grace- 

The poem separates into three 
parts : in the first whereof the poet 
exhorts all those who desire to listen 
to his song of God's great love to 
endeavor to gain it by unremitting 
exertion ; and furthermore to pray 
for him, the poet, who has so little 
striven to attain it for himself. In 
the second part, the poet calls upon 
the heavens and Christ to bend down 
and listen to his truthful lays in praise 
of Christ's sweet mother. Then in 
the third part begins the praise of 
the Virgin, followed by that of her 
Son, and the poem reaches its su- 
preme fervor when it breaks out final- 
ly in praise of God himself. Thence 
it gradually lowers its tone, and final- 
ly expires in a sigh, 

I suppose it is impossible to give 
an adequate idea by translation of 
the melodious sound of words, the 
perfect rhythm, and the artistic gra- 

dation of effect which this poem has 
parts of the poem, and so selected 
as to give a general idea of both the 
manner and the matter of the poem. 
The selection opens with the first 
and ends with the last verses of 
the whole poem; but the whole 
itself being composed of ninety-four 
stanzas, it was necessary to take from 
in the original. I can say only that 
I have done my best in the following 
stanzas, selected from the various 
the intermediate ones only speci- 
mens. The imagery may often seem 
far-fetched, but it must be remember- 
ed that the men of that period liken- 
ed God and the God-begotten unto 
everything on earth and in heaven, 
for the simple reason that they deem- 
ed it irreverent and impossible to 
characterize them by any single pre- 
dicate or word. 

Of the poet himself we know very 
little. His name indicates him to 
have been a citizen of Strassburg. 
His title Meister (master) shows that 
his station in life was that of a citi- 
zen and not of a noble or knight, 
their title being Herr. He was un- 
doubtedly the foremost poet of his 
age, and together with Wolfram 
von Eschenbach was then and is 
still so considered. His greatest 
work is the narrative poem, Tristan 
und Isolde ; but that he left unfinish- 
ed. We have no other work of his 
handed down to us except three or 
four small Minnesongs. 


YE, who your life would glorify 

And float in bliss with God on high, 

There to dwell nigh 

His peace and love's salvation ; 

Who fain would learn how to enroll 

All evils under your control, 

And rid your soul 

Of many a sore temptation : 

Gottfried i'on Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin. 243 

Give heed unto this song of love 
And follow its sweet story ; 
Then will its passing sweetness prove 
Unto your hearts a peaceful dove, 

And upward move 
Your souls to realms of glory. 

Ye, who would hear what you have ne'er 

Heard spoken, now incline your ear 

And listen here 

To what my tongue unfoldeth. 

Yea, list to the sweet praise arid worth 

Of her who to God's child gave birth ; 

Wherefore on earth 

God as in heaven her holdeth. 

E'en as the air when fresh bedewed 

Bears fruitful growth, so to man 

She bears an ever-fruitful mood : 

Never so chaste and sweet heart's blood, 

So true and good, 
Was born by mortal woman. 

I speak of thee in my best strain : 

No mother e'er such child may gain, 

Or child attain 

So pure a mother ever. 

He chose what his own nature was ; 

His glorious Godhead chose as case 

The purest vase 

Of flesh and bone's endeavor 

That woman ever to her heart 

'Tween earth and heaven gave pressure. 

In thee lay hidden every part, 

That ever did from virtue start ; 

Of bliss thou art 
The sweetest, chosen treasure. 

Thou gem, thou gold, thou diamond-glow, 

Thou creamy milk, white ivory, oh ! 

Thou honey-flow 

In heart and mouth dissolving ; 

Of fruitful virtue a noble grove, 

The lovely bride of God above 

Thou sweet, sweet love, 

Thou hour with bliss revolving ! 

Of chastity thou whitest snow, 

A grape of chaste and sure love, 

A clover-field of true love's glow, 

244 Gottfried von Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin. 

Of grace a bottomless ocean's flow : 

Yea more, I trow : 
A turtle-dove of pure love. 

God thee hath clothed with raiments seven, 

On thy pure body, brought from heaven, 

Hath put them even 

When thou wast first created. 

The first dress Chastity is named, 

The second is as Virtue famed, 

The third is claimed 

And as sweet Courtesy rated. 

The fourth dress is Humility, 

The fifth is Mercy's beauty, 

The sixth one, Faith, clings close to thee, 

The seventh, humble Modesty, 

Keepeth thee free 
To follow simple duty. 

To worship, Lady, thee doth teach 

Pray'r to drenched courage and numbed speech, 

Yea, and fires each 

Cold heart with heavenly rapture. 

To worship thee, O Lady ! can 

Teach many an erring, sinful man, 

How from sin's ban 

His soul he still may capture. 

To worship thee is e'en a branch 

On which the soul's life bloometh ; 

To worship thee makes bold and stanch 

The weakest soul on sin's hard bench ; 

God it doth wrench 
From hell and in heaven roometh. 

Then let both men and women proclaim, 
And what of mother's womb e'er came, 
Both wild and tame, 
The grace of thy devotion. 
Then praise thee now what living lives, 
Whatever heaven's dew receives, 
Runs, floats, or cleaves 
Through forest or through ocean. 
Then praise thee now the fair star-shine, 
The sun and the moon gold-glowing, 
Then praise thee the four elements thine; 
Yea, blessedness around thee twine, 

Thou cheering wine, 
Thou stream with grace o'erflowing. 

Gottfried von Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin. 245 

Rejoice, then, Lady of the skies, 

Rejoice, thou God-love's paradise, 

Rejoice, thou prize 

Of sweetest roses growing ! 

Rejoice, thou blessecf maiden, then, 

Rejoice, that every race and clan, 

Woman and man, 

Pray to thy love o'erflowing. 

Rejoice, that thou with God dost show 

So many things in common : 

His yea thy yea, his no thy no ; 

Endless ye mingle in one flow ; 

Small and great, lo ! 
He shares with thee, sweet woman. 

Now have I praised the mother thine, 

O sweet, fair Christ and Lord of mine 1 

That honor's shrine 

Wherein thou wast created. 

And loud I'll now praise thee, O Lord ! 

Yea, did I not, 'twould check my word ; 

Thy praise has soared, 

And with all things been mated. 

Seven hours each day thy praise shall now 

By me in pray'r be chanted ; 

This well belongs to thee, I trow, 

For with all virtues thou dost glow ; 

From all grief thou 
Relief to us hast granted. 

Thou of so many pure hearts the hold, 
So many a pure maid's sweetheart bold, 
All thee enfold 

With love bright, loud, and yearning. 
Thou art caressed by many a mood, 
Caressed by many a heart's warm blood ; 
Thou art so good, 
So truthful and love-burning. 
Caressed by all the stars that soar, 
By moon and sun, thou blessing ! 
Caressed by the great elements four ; 
Oh ! ne'er caressed so was afore, 

Nor will be more, 
Sweetheart by love's caressing ! 

Yea, thou art named the God of grace, 
Without whose special power, no phase 
Of life in space 
Had ever gained existence. 

246 Gottfried von Strassburgs Great Hymn to the Virgin. 

What runneth, climbeth, sneaketh, or striveth, 

What crawleth, twineth, flieth, or diveth, 

Yea, all that thriveth 

In earth and heaven's subsistence : 

Of all, the life to thee is known, 

Thou art their food and banner, 

The lives of all are held alone 

By thee, O Lord ! and on thy throne ; 

Thus is well known 
Thy grace in every manner. 

God of thee speaking, God of thee saying, 

Teareth the heart its passions flaying, 

And stay waylaying 

The ever-watchful devil. 

God of thee speaking, God of thee saying, 

Much strength and comfort keeps displaying ; 

And hearts thus staying, 

Are saved from every evil. 

God of thee speaking, God of thee saying, 

Is pleasure beyond all pleasure. 

It moves our hearts, thy grace surveying, 

To keep with love thy love repaying ; 

O'er all things swaying 
Thus shines thy love's great treasure. 

God of thee speaking repentance raises 

When they, who chant thy wondrous praises. 

Use lying phrases : 

So purely thy word gloweth. 

It suffers less a lying mood 

Than suffers waves the ocean's flood, 

So pure and good 

Its changeless current floweth. 

God of thee speaking doth attest 

Pure heart and chaste endeavor, 

It driveth the devil from our breast. 

Oh ! well I know its soothing rest, 

It is the zest 
Of thy vast mercy's flavor. 

Ah virtue pure, ah purest vase ! 

Ah of chaste eyes thou mirror-glass 1 

Ah diamond-case, 

With fruitful virtues glowing ! 

Ah festive day to pleasure lent ! 

Ah rapture without discontent ! 

Ah sweet musk-scent ! 

Ah flower gayly blooming ! 

Ah heavenly kingdom where thou art ! 

On earth, in hell, or heaven ! 

A Word to the Independent. 


Ah cunning o'er all cunning's art ! 
Ah thou, that knoweth every part ! 

Ah sweet Christ's heart ! 
Ah sweetness without leaven ! 

Ah virtue there, ah virtue here ! 

Ah virtue on many a dark and drear 

Path, far and near ! 

Ah virtue e'er befriending ! 

Ah thou self-conscious purity ! 

Ah goodness, those that cling to thee 

So many be 

Their number has no ending. 

Ah father, mother thou, and son ! 

Ah brother both and sister ! 

Ah strong of faith as Jacob's son ! 

Ah king of earth's and heaven's throne 

Ah thou alone 
Our friend to-day as yester ! 



" We address you, Reverend Dr. Heck- 
er, in this public way because we recog- 
' nize in you not only the ablest defender 
of the Roman Catholic Church in the 
United States, but also the most progres- 
sive and enlightened leader of thought in 
that church. In the words we have to 
speak, we wish to speak not to Dr. Heck 
er, the antagonist of Protestantism, but to 
Father Hecker, a leader of Catholicism. 
We write in no polemical spirit. We have 
many things against the Church of Rome, 
and have spoken severely of Catholicism 
as you have of Protestantism. But we Have 
also much veneration for many things in 
that church, and a Very great admiration 
for some passages in its history. Enthu- 
siastic as you are, sir, you cannot revere 
more sincerely than we the self-sacrificing 
benevolence of St. Francis of Assisi, the 
zeal of St. Francis Xavier, the piety of 
Fenelon and of Lacordaire, the eloquence 
of Bossuet and Massillon, or the courage 
of Pascal and Hyacinthe. 

" We come to you for help. In all our 
great cities there are sections inhabited 

almost wholly by Roman Catholic peo- 
ple. It is a fact, as well known to you 
as it is to us, that Catholic sections of the 
cities abound in destitution, in ignorance, 
in vice, in crime. Children are here 
trained by all their surroundings to a life 
of wickedness. In many homes they 
learn profanity from the lips of their 
mothers, and they are .familiar with 
drunkenness from their cradle, if they are 
so fortunate as to have one left not pawn- 
ed to buy the means of drunkenness. We 
know how many honest and hard-work- 
ing Catholics there are in these sections, 
and we know how many villanous non- 
Catholics there are. But you know as 
well as any one knows that the Catholic 
population furnishes vastly more than its 
proportion of paupers and criminals. The 
reform schools, the prisons, the alms- 
houses, are nearly full of Catholics. In 
the Catholic sections of the cities there 
are drinking-saloons, dog-pits, and broth- 
els in abundance. The men who keep 
these places are, in undue proportion, 
Catholics. They receive extreme unction 
on their death-beds, and are buried in 
consecrated cemeteries with the rites of 


A Word to ihc Independent. 

the church. We say these things not to 
wound your Catholic pride, nor to injure 
that church, but to ask one question: 
Cannot the Catholic Church herself do 
something to mitigate these evils? 

" Protestants plant missions in some of 
these Catholic quarters. We are not sure 
that these missions are always conducted 
as they, should be. Perhaps there may 
be too much of a spirit of proselytism in 
some of them ; but, at any rate, there is 
a sincere desire to make men better. 
Drunkards have been reformed by these 
missions. Women of evil life have been 
reclaimed. Children have been taken 
from vile homes and taught the ways of 
virtue. Sunday-schools and reading- 
rooms have been established, and have 
contributed to the culture and elevation 
of adults and children. 

" But you know, sir, how strong is the 
Catholic prejudice against Protestants. 
Broken windows, and sometimes broken 
heads, have testified to the appreciation 
the Catholic population has of such 
efforts on the part of Protestants. There 
are whole districts from which Protes- 
tants are practically excluded. For the 
worse the lives of these people are, the 
more combatively devoted are they to the 
Catholic Church. Of course, we believe 
that Protestantism is better than Roman 
Catholicism ; but since the reaching of 
these people with Protestant missions is 
not possible, we come to you and ask 
you whether you, who have done so much 
for the enlightenment of the Catholic 
Church through its literature, will not lift 
up your powerful voice to plead with the 
church to use her almost unlimited in- 
fluence for the regeneration of her peo- 

" We are never tired of praising Cath- 
olic charities. But Catholic charities, 
like many Protestant ones, are only half- 
charities. Of what avail is it that you 
build a House of the Good Shepherd for 
abandoned women, if you do not also take 
means to mitigate the ignorance and the 
wickedness of the children who are quick- 
ly to supply the places of those whom you 
have recovered ? 

"We point you to no Protestant exam- 
ple. We know of none so good as that 
of the illustrious St. Charles Borromeo. 
If the great Cathedral of Milan were the 
rudest chapel in Europe, it would yet be 
one of the most glorious of temples. We 
need not point the application of his ex- 
ample to the present subject. If the 

Catholic Church in America had one ec- 
clesiastic of ability who possessed half the 
zeal of the illustrious successor of St. 
Ambrose, this stain upon American 
Catholicism might soon be wiped away. 
We need not remind one so learned in 
church history as yourself of his toilsome 
labor in the cause of education, and of 
his endeavors, which ceased only with his 
life, to remove ignorance and vice from 
his diocese. In suggesting to you, whose 
parish has already so admirable a Sunday- 
school, the good that might be accom- 
plished by a thoroughly organized Sun- 
day school system, we do not need to sug- 
gest that in Sunday-school work Catho- 
lics are not imitators of Protestants. We 
are proud to trace the history of Sunday- 
schools to St. Charles Borromeo. 

" By helping to improve the moral, in- 
tellectual, and religious character of the 
lower class of American Catholics, you 
can do more than by all your eloquent ar 
guments to make Protestants think well oi 
the mother church. Americans are very 
practical, and a good chapter of present 
church history enacted before their eyes 
will have more weight with them than all 
the old church history your learning can 
dig from the folios of eighteen centuries." 

We depart from our usual course 
to reprint the above rather long ar- 
ticle, which appeared some time ago 
in the Independent, one of the lead- 
ing Protestant papers of the coun- 
try, not because of its intrinsic merits 
or special untruthfulness, nor yet for 
its assumed knowledge of the views 
and duties of the reverend gentle- 
man to whom it is so pointedly ad- 
dressed, but because we consider this 
a fitting time and place to answer 
the invidious attacks which, under 
one guise or another, are so constant- 
ly being made on the church in 
America by those who are neither 
able to ieet openly our arguments, 
nor to arrest covertly the astonishing 
progress which our holy religion is 
happily making in every part of this 
republic. These assaults sometimes 
take the form of wholesale and men- 
dacious assertion and passionate ap- 
peal to blind prejudice and unreason; 

A Word to the Independent. 


while sometimes, like the one before 
us, they assume the thin disguise of 
personal courtesy and general charity 
to all men. The former aps perhaps 
the more manly, the latter have the 
merit of permitting us, without loss of 
self-respect, to reply to them. The ob- 
ject in either case is the same : a vain 
endeavor to stem the tide of Catho- 
licity which, in a succession of great 
waves, as it were, is fast spreading 
over the land, and an attempt to make 
our faith an object of aversion to those 
of our countrymen not yet in the 
church, by associating it with all that 
is impoverished, illiterate, and im- 

It is true, as the writer says, that 
the Americans are a practical people ; 
but we are not by any means a very 
reflective people, and are very apt to 
judge hastily of others without suffi- 
ciently considering the various caus- 
es which underlie the surface of 
society, or the effects which may be 
produced on a people less fortunate 
than ourselves by ages of misrule and 
persecution. Knowing this national 
failing very well, the writer in the 
Independent adroitly seeks to hold the 
Catholic Church responsible for the 
faults and vices of a certain class of 
nominal Catholics in our midst, when 
he is fully aware that these very 
vices, so far from being the growth 
of Catholic teaching, are not only in 
absolute contradiction to it, but are 
the direct and logical results of an 
elaborate system of penal legislation, 
designed to produce the very degra- 
dation of which he complains, and 
persistently carried out to its furthest 
limit by the leading Protestant pow- 
er of Europe. 

Take New York, for instance. 
Here the church is practically the 
growth of but half a century. There 
are some among us whose Catholic 
ancestors came to this country in the 
last or even in the seventeenth cen- 

tury ; others who have sought refuge 
from the doubts and uncertainties of 
Protestantism in the peaceful bosom 
of mother church ; but by far the great- 
er number are immigrants of this cen- 
tury, and their children, who, glad to 
flee from famine and persecution with 
nothing but their lives and faith, have 
sought refuge on our shores from the 
tyranny of a hostile government, 
which the world has long recognized 
as both insincere, oppressive, and illib- 
eral, but which, by virtue of its as- 
sumed leadership in the Protestant 
revolt called the Reformation, wanton- 
ly and tenaciously continued to per- 
secute its subjects who dared to pro- 
fess their devotion to the faith of their 
fathers. Any one, be he lawyer or 
laymen, who reads the penal acts of 
the parliaments of England, Scotland, 
and Ireland from the reign of Henry 
VIII. downward, must be satisfied 
that a more complete network of laws 
for the purpose of beggaring, degrad- 
ing, and corrupting human nature 
has never been devised. Some of 
them, in fact, are almost preternatural 
in their ingenuity ; and the wonder is 
how any class of people coming un- 
der their operation could, for any 
length of time, retain even the sem- 
blance of civilization. Everything 
that it was possible to take by legisla- 
tion from the Catholics of Great Bri- 
tain and Ireland was taken, every ad- 
vantage arising from the possession 
of land or the acquisition of commer- 
cial wealth was denied them, and the 
avenues to honor and distinction 
were, and are partially so to this day, 
closed against them, generation after 
generation. That many of the de- 
scendants of these persecuted people 
who have come among us are unedu- 
cated is true, that they are generally 
poor is a fact patent to every one; 
but it ill becomes the Independent to 
taunt them with their ignorance and 
their poverty, knowing, as it does, that 


A Word to the Independent. 

it was Protestantism, of which it is 
the expounder and the eulogist, that 
has robbed them of their birthright, 
and striven, with some success, it 
seems, to plunge their souls in dark- 
ness. Is it fair or generous to hold 
these people up to public contumely 
because of the scars they have re- 
ceived in their unequalled struggle 
for the freedom of conscience and 
nationality ; is it just or American to 
try to steal from those who seek an 
asylum on our soil that for which they 
have imperilled and lost all else 
their faith, which is to them dearer 
than life itself? Or is it more in 
keeping with all our ideas of true 
manhood and republican liberty that 
while we extend one arm to shield 
the victim of oppression, the other 
should be stretched forth in reproba- 
tion of his plunderer and persecu- 
tor ? If they have vices and what 
people have not ? let a share of the 
blame at least be laid at the doors 
of those who designedly and contin- 
ually debarred them from all means 
of enlightenment and every incen- 
tive to virtue, instead of being attri- 
buted to the influence of the church. 
And yet, in view of the gloomy his- 
tory of these people a chapter in the 
annals of England which the best of 
her Protestant statesmen are endeav- 
oring to efface from the popular mem- 
ory the writer in the Independent 
appears to be surprised at what he 
calls Catholic prejudice against Prot- 
estant missions. No man, we are 
safe in saying, has less prejudice 
against his fellow-man than the 
American Catholic, in all the usual 
intercourse of life ; but when a per- 
son under the garb of charity in- 
vades the sanctity of his home simply 
to abuse his religion, or waylays his 
children in the streets and inveigles 
them into mission-houses and Sunday- 
schools by the proffer of a loaf or a 
jacket, for the purpose of telling them 

that their fathers' faith is rank idola- 
try, is it not too much to expect that 
he will remain unmoved and uncom- 
plaining ? The writer should recollect 
that the class of so-called missionaries 
who infest the quarters of our poorer 
fellow-Catholics are not new to those 
people. They have seen their coun- 
terparts long ago in Bantry and Con- 
nemara, in the fertile valleys of 
Munster and on the bleak hills of 
Connaught, in the dark days of the 
great famine, when the tract dis- 
tributer followed hard on the heels 
of the tithe-proctor and the bailiff, 
tendering a meal or a shilling as 
the price of apostasy. If heads 
are occasionally broken, they are 
not the heads of those who attend 
to their own affairs and let their 
neighbors attend to theirs, but of some 
intermeddling tract-scatterer, whose 
salary depends upon the number of 
copies he can force into the hands 
of Catholics without regard to their 
wishes or feelings. The provocation 
emanates from them, and they must 
take the consequences. If the law 
permits us to inflict summary chastise- 
ment on the burglar who enters our 
house to take our goods, shall we 
have no remedy against him who 
prowls about our doors to steal our 
children and abuse our faith ? 

If Protestant missions were prop- 
erly conducted, they would have none 
of these difficulties to contend with. 
But are they properly conducted ? 
The writer in the Independent seems 
to have some doubts on this point. 
We have none. Whoever will take 
the trouble to attend the Bible-class- 
es, prayer-meetings, day-schools, and 
Sunday-schools of the Howard Mis- 
sion and its adjuncts, will be satisfied 
that they are nothing but ingeniously 
contrived machines for the purpose of 
proselytizing Catholic children. Abuse 
of Catholicity of the most unqualified 
and vulgar kind forms the staple of the 

A Word to the Independent. 


instructions there from beginning to 
end. Even the material relief is di- 
verted to this purpose. The poor 
naif-starved lad, as he eats his food, 
swallows it down with a draught of 
no-popery cant, and the ragged little 
girl, as she dons some cast-off gar- 
ment, has her young mind polluted by 
aspersions on the name of her whom 
Holy Writ declared should be called 
blessed by all nations. We have 
before us a periodical issued from the 
Howard Mission, under the superin- 
tendence of a Rev. W. C. Van Me- 
ter, which is as full of that canting, 
snivelling, anti-Catholic spirit as ever 
characterized the days of God-save- 
Barebones or of John Wesley's un- 
lettered disciples. As a specimen of 
the veracity of this modem apostle to 
the Fourth Ward, and for the benefit 
of the Independent, which has some 
doubts as to whether Protestant mis- 
sions are properly conducted, we ex- 
tract the following prominent article 
from its pages : 

the Protestant countries of Great Britain 
and Prussia, where 20 can read and write, 
there are but 13 in the Roman Catholic 
countries of France and Austria. In 
European countries, i in every 10 are in 
schools in the Protestant countries, and 
but I in 124 in the Roman Catholic. In 
six leading Protestant countries in Eu- 
rope, i newspaper or magazine is pub- 
lished to every 315 inhabitants ; while in 
six Roman Catholic there is but i to 
every 2,715. The value of what is pro- 
duced a year by industry in Spain is $6 
to each inhabitant ; in France, $7% ; Prus- 
sia, $8 ; and in Great Britain, $31. There 
are about a third more paupers in the 
Roman Catholic countries of Europe 
than in the Protestant, owing mainly to 
their numerous holidays and prevailing 
ignorance, idleness, and vice. Three 
times as many crimes are committed in 
Ireland as in Great Britain, though the 
population is but a third. There are six 
times as many homicides, four times as 
many assassinations, and from three to 
four times as many thefts in Ireland as 

in Scotland. In Catholic Austria, there 
are four times as many crimes committed 
as in the adjoining Protestant kingdom 
of Prussia." * 

Now, we ask, is the man or men 
who penned and circulated this atro- 
cious calumny likely to command 
the respect of any class of Catholics, 
learned or ignorant? He or they 
knew, or ought to have known, that 
it contains several deliberate false- 
hoods. Take, for example, the por- 
tion of the extract relating to Great 
Britain and Ireland. By referring 
to the report of " Her Majesty's In- 
spector of Schools, August 31, 1868," 
we find that in England and Wales 
the average attendance at all the 
schools in the kingdom was 1,050,120, 
in Scotland 191,860, and in Ireland, 
at the model schools alone, 354,853, 
or nearly twice as many as in Scot- 
land, and, in proportion to the popu- 
lation, one-seventh more than in 
England. From the official report 
of the statistics of crime in the same 
year (the latest published reports that 
have reached us), there were convict- 
ed of crime in England 15,003, in 
Scotland 2,490, and in Ireland 2,394. 
Of those sentenced in England, 21 
were condemned to death, 18 to pe- 
nal servitude for life, and 1,921 for a 
term of years. In Scotland, one was 
condemned to death, and 243 to pe- 
nal servitude, while in Ireland none 
were condemned to death, and but 
238 to penal servitude. We find 
also that in England alone 118,390 
persons are reported as belonging to the 
criminal classes known to the autho- 
rities, and but 23,041 in Ireland; and 
while the former country has 20,000 
houses of bad character, the latter 
has 5,876. The number of paupers 
in each of the three countries shows 
even a greater disparity. England 

* The Little Wanderer's Friend, January, 


A Word to the Independent. 

in 1868 had, exclusive of vagrants, 
1,039,549, or one in every twenty 
of the population; Scotland, 158,372, 
or one in every 19; and Ireland, 
74,254, or one in every 80 ! * 

If it were not foreign to our pre- 
sent purpose, we could prove that the 
managers of the Protestant missions 
are equally untruthful in their invidi- 
ous comparisons instituted between 
other countries,t but we have shown 
enough to convince any impartial 
person that they are not fit to be en- 
trusted with the care of youth of 
any class, much less of Catholic chil- 
dren. If the supporters of the In- 
dependent are sincere in their desire 
to benefit the destitute, the needy, 
and the vicious, let them first remove 
all suspicion of proselytism from their 
charities by appointing proper per- 
sons to administer them. If they 
have conscientious scruples against 
co-operating with the various Ca- 
tholic charitable societies, who know 
the poor and are trusted by them, 
there are other ways of dispensing 
their bounty judiciously than by 
tampering with the poor people's 
faith, and their charity will then be- 
come a blessing to the giver as well 
as to the receiver. Then let them, 
above all things, advocate a fair and 
impartial distribution of the public 
school funds. It is well known that 
the Catholics as a body are far from 
being rich, and that while they are 
struggling hard to sustain their own 
schools, they are heavily taxed for 
the support of those to which they 
cannot consistently send their chil- 
dren, and from which, in many instan- 
ces, the offspring of the rich alone 
receive any benefit. Can we not 
in this free democracy have laws re- 
gulating education at least as equita- 

* Thoins Directory of the United Kingdom of 
Great Britain and Ireland ', for 1870, pp. 713-721. 

t See CATHOLIC WORLD for April. September, 
and October, 1869, and April, 1870. 

ble as those of Austria and Prussia 
countries which we are pleased to 
call despotic ? Help us to the means 
to educate our children in our own 
way, as we have a right to do, and 
you will see how the stigma of igno- 
rance and its consequences will be 
removed from the fair forehead of 
this great metropolis. We ask not 
charity, we simply want our fair share 
of that public money which is con- 
tributed by Catholic and Protestant 
alike for educational purposes, and 
the liberty to apply it with as much 
freedom from state interference as is 
enjoyed in the monarchies of Europe. 
The writer in the Independent as- 
sumes, with a coolness approaching im- 
pertinence, that the clergyman whom 
he addresses knows that the Catholic 
population " furnishes more, vastly 
more, than its proportion of paupers 
and criminals." He knows no such 
thing, nor does any right-minded man 
in the community know it. That 
there are many and grave crimes com- 
mitted by nominal Catholics is, alas ! 
too true, but that many such are 
perpetrated, to any appreciable ex- 
tent, by the hundreds of thousands of 
practical Catholics in this city, no 
sane man believes. Poor and ignor- 
ant, if you will, without capital, bus- 
iness training, or mechanical skill, 
many thousands of our immigrants 
are from necessity obliged to make 
their homes in the purlieus of our 
great cities. Disappointed in their too 
sanguine expectation of fortune in 
the New World, some seek solace in 
intoxication, and in that condition 
commit acts of lawlessness which their 
better nature abhors. But much as 
the commission of crime in any shape 
is to be regretted and reprehended, 
it must be admitted that most of the 
offences are comparatively trivial in 
their nature and consequences, and 
few, even of the darkest, are the re- 
sult of premeditated villany. In 

A Word to the Independent. 


searching over the criminal records 
of our state and country, we seldom 
find a contrived infraction of the law 
by the class to which the writer so 
ungraciously alludes. A gigantic 
swindle, a scientific burglary, a nicely 
planned larceny, an adroit forgery, a 
diabolical seduction, or a deliberate 
and long-contemplated murder by 
poison or the knife, is seldom commit- 
ted by that class, but by those who 
were reared in as much hostility to Ca- 
tholicity as the writer of the Independ- 
ent himself. This higher grade of 
crime, this " bad pre-eminence," we 
might with some show of justice as- 
cribe to the effects of the laxity of Pro- 
testant morals, but we have no desire 
to do so here ; and with even much 
more truthfulness might we charge 
the sects who teach that marriage is 
merely a civil contract with the 
responsibility of those other vices 
which, striking at the very founda- 
tions of society and the sanctity of 
the family, are more lasting in their 
consequences and more demoralizing 
in their immediate effects, than all the 
others put together. The columns 
of, this same virtuous Independent 
have obtained an unenviable notor- 
iety by spreading the most shameful 
and corrupting doctrines on this vital 
subject. But we have no wish to 
retort: the records of our divorce 
courts will prove that this class of 
criminals is made up almost exclusive- 
ly of non-Catholics. 

The writer in the Independent, 
throughout his appeal, assumes a 
tone of superior knowledge and a 
lofty contempt for details that might 
mislead some into the belief that the 
Catholic body of this city was an 
inert and helpless mass. He asks, 
" Will you not lift up your powerful 
voice to plead with the church to use 
her almost unlimited influence for the 
regeneration of her people ?" Does 
the writer know, or has he attempted 
to ascertain, all that the church has 

done and is doing in this city, as in 
every other, for the " regeneration of 
her people" ? If he does not, by 
what right does he assume that the 
voice of any one man or any number 
of men is required to plead with the 
church to do her duty ? If he be 
ignorant of his subject, then by what 
authority does he take upon himself 
the office of mediator between the 
church and the people? If he be 
not in. ignorance, then his carefully 
worded sentences and smoothly turn- 
ed compliments merely cover, without 
concealing, a tissue of base insinua- 
tions, beside which downright false- 
hood were rank flattery. 

Let him look at what the church 
has done in New York in the past 
generation ! Forty churches and 
chapels have been built, with a capa- 
city, it is said, to seat fifty-six thousand 
persons, but really equal to the ac- 
commodation of five times that num- 
ber, as in every church the divine 
service is offered up at least three times 
each Sunday, and all are attended 
beyond the greatest capacity of the 
building. To many of our churches 
is attached a free day-school for boys 
and girls, and invariably a Sunday- 
school thronged weekly by the 
youth of both sexes, to listen to the 
instruction and counsel of competent 
teachers. Every parish has its St. Vin- 
cent de Paul society, counting hun- 
dreds and in some cases thousands of 
members, whose aim it is to visit the 
sick, the afflicted, and the needy ; and 
its temperance society, the strength 
of which may be judged by the long 
line of stahvorth men we see parad- 
ing our streets on festal occasions. 
Colleges, schools, and convents there 
are in great numbers for the teaching 
of the higher branches of education. 
Hospitals for the sick and afflicted, 
asylums for the blind, the orphan, 
the foundling, and the repentant sin- 
ner, a reformatory for erring youth, 
and a shelter for old age. Almost 


A Word to the Independent. 

every conceivable want of weak hu- 
manity has its appropriate place of 
supply among our charitable institu- 

All this grand system of charities 
is, however, lost on the writer in the 
Independent. His special attention is 
directed to the " dense Catholic sec- 
tions." Well, we will take the Fourth 
Ward, which is blessed with the 
Howard Mission and the beneficent 
supervision of Mr. Van Meter. St. 
James's Church is situated in this ward, 
and its parish embraces all the Pro- 
testant missions so-called, and most 
of their offshoots. Upon personal 
inquiry, we find that there is erect- 
ed in this parish a magnificent and 
spacious school-house, at a cost of 
one hundred and twenty thousand dol- 
lars, attended daily during week-days 
by upwards of fourteen hundred boys 
and. girls, taught by twenty-two 
teachers of both sexes. The tuition 
is entirely free, the expenses amount- 
ing to about twelve thousand dollars 
annually, being sustained by the volun- 
tary contributions of the parishioners. 
The Sunday-schools of this church 
are attended by twenty-Jive hundred 
children, about one-half of whom, be- 
ing employed during the week, are 
imable to attend the day-schools. 
Then there is an industrial school, 
attended by between one and two 
hundred poor children, mostly half- 
<rphans, who are provided with 
dinner every day, and to whom are 
given two entire suits of new cloth- 
ing every year, on July 4th and 
Christmas Day. In addition to these 
there is a branch of the St. Vincent do 
Paul Society, numbering several hun- 
dred members, forty of whom are con- 
stantly on duty, visiting the sick, 
counselling the erring, helping the 
needy, and performing other works of 
charity. This society alone expends 
annually at least five thousand dol- 
lars. Besides, there are two temper- 
ance societies, numbering nearly nine 

hundred men, who not only discour- 
age intemperance by their example, 
but seek by weekly meetings, lectures, 
and other popular attractions to win 
others to follow in their footsteps. 
Now, these-are facts easily verified by 
any one who may wish to do so, and 
may be taken as a fair specimen of the 
gigantic efforts which the church is 
making in every parish in this city 
for the conservation of the morals 
and the education of her people. St. 
James's Parish may be said to contain 
the largest proportionate number of 
our poorer brethren, who, though 
heavily taxed as tenement holders 
and retail purchasers of all the neces- 
saries of life, contributing of course 
their quota to the public school fund, 
can yet afford, out of their scanty and 
often precarious means, to educate 
and partly feed and clothe over fif- 
teen hundred children. Can the 
Independent show any similar ef- 
fort on the part of any of the 
sects ? 

The writer in the Independent says, 
" We come to you for help." What 
sort of help ? If it is assistance to 
prop up the decaying Protestant mis- 
sions which have so long been sources 
of discord and bad feeling among 
our Catholic fellow-citizens, profit- 
able only to their employees, we re- 
spectfully decline : if he is in truth and 
all sincerity desirous to devote a part 
of his leisure time and means to im- 
prove the condition of his less for- 
tunate fellow-beings in the denser 
populated portions of the city, we 
cannot advise him to do better than 
to consult the pastor of St. James's 
or of any of the churches in the 
lower wards, who will give him all 
the help required for the proper 
disposal of both. And, in conclu- 
sion, let us suggest to him that no 
amount of politeness will justify the 
violation of the commandment which 
says, " Thou shalt not bear false wit- 
ness against thy neighbor." 

Our Lady of Lonrdcs. 





THE press of Paris and of the 
provinces was beginning to discuss 
the events at Lourdes ; and public 
attention far outside the region of the 
Pyrenees was gradually being attract- 
ed to the Grotto of Massabielle. 

The measures of .the prefect were 
loudly applauded by the infidel papers 
and as vehemently condemned by the 
Catholic ones. The latter, while 
maintaining a due reserve on the sub- 
ject of the reality of the apparitions 
and miracles, held that a question of 
this nature should be decided by the 
ecclesiastical authorities, and not 
summarily settled according to the 
will of the prefect. 

The innumerable cures which 
were taking place at the grotto, or 
even at distant places, continually 
drew an immense number of inva- 
lids and pilgrims to Lourdes. The 
Latour de Trie analysis, and the min- 
is eral properties claimed for the new- 
spring by the official representative of 
science, added yet more to the repu- 
i tation of the grotto, and made it at- 
tractive even to those who depended 
for their cure only on the unaided 
powers of nature. Also, the discus- 
sion, by exciting men's minds, added 
> to the throng of the faithful there as- 
sembled another of the curious. All 
the means adopted by the unbeliev- 
ers turned directly against the end 
which they had proposed to them- 

By the irresistible course of events, 
then a course fatal in the eyes of 
some, but providential in those of 
Others the crowd which the authori- 

ties had been trying to disperse was 
continually assuming larger and larg- 
er proportions. And it increased the 
more, because, as ill luck would have 
it, the material obstacles which the 
frosts of winter had produced had 
gradually disappeared. The month 
of May had returned ; and the beau- 
tiful spring weather seemed to invite 
pilgrims to come to the grotto by all 
the flowery roads which traverse the 
woods, meadows, and vineyards in 
this region of lofty mountains, green 
hills, and shady valleys. 

The provoked but powerless pre- 
fect watched the growth and spread 
of this peaceable and wonderful 
movement, which was bringing the 
Christian multitudes to kneel and 
drink at the foot of a desolate 

The measures already taken had, 
it is true, prevented the grotto from 
looking like an oratory, but, substan- 
tially, the state of things remained 
the same. From all sides people 
were coming to the scene of a mira- 
cle. Contrary to the hope of the 
free-thinkers, the fear of the faithful, 
and the expectations of all, absolute- 
ly no disturbance or breach of the 
peace occurred in this extraordi- 
nary concourse of men and women, 
old and young, believers and infidels, 
the curious and the indifferent. An 
invisible hand seemed to protect 
these crowds from mutual collision as 
they daily throXiged by thousands to 
the miraculous fountain. 

The magistracy, represented by 
M. Dutour, and the police, personi- 
fied in M. Jacomet, looked at this 
strange phenomenon with astonish- 


Our Lady of Lourdes. 

ment. Was their irritation all the 
greater on his account ? We cannot 
say ; but for some dispositions ex- 
tremely fond of authority, the spec- 
tacle of a multitude so wonderfully 
orderly and peaceable, is certainly 
anomalous and revolutionary, if not 
even insulting. When order preserves 
itself, all those functionaries whose 
only business is to preserve it feel a 
vague uneasiness. Being accustomed 
to have a hand in everything in the 
name of the law, to regulate, to 
command, to punish, to pardon, to 
see everything and everybody depend 
on their person and office, they feel 
out of place in the presence of a 
crowd which does not need theif ser- . 
vices, and which gives them no pre- 
text for interfering, showing their im- 
portance, and restraining its move- 
ments. An order which excludes 
them is the worst of all disorders. 
If such a fatal example should be 
generally followed, the procttreurs 
impjriaux would no longer have a 
sufficient reason for their existence, 
the commissaries of police would 
disappear, and even the prefectoral 
splendor would begin to wane. 

Baron Massy had indeed been 
able to order the seizure of every 
object deposited at the grotto; but 
there was no law recognizing such 
deposits as criminal, and it was im- 
possible to forbid or punish them. 
Hence, in spite of the spoliations of 
the prefect, the grotto was often bril- 
liantly lighted by candles, and fill- 
ed with flowers and votive offerings, 
and even with silver and gold coins 
contributed for the building of the 
chapel which the Blessed Virgin had 
required. The pious faithful wished 
in this way though it were an inef- 
fectual one to show the Queen of 
Heaven their good-will, zeal, and 
love. " What matter is it if they do 
take the money ? It will have been 
offered all the same. The candle 

will have given its light for a time in 
honor of our Mother, and the bou- 
quet will for an instant have perfum- 
ed the sacred spot where her feet 
rested." Such were the thoughts 
of those Christian souls. 

Jacomet and his agents continued 
to come and carry everything off. 
The commissary, much encouraged 
after having escaped the dangers of 
the 4th of May, had become very 
scornful and brutal in his proceedings, 
sometimes throwing the object seized 
into the Gave before the scandalized 
eyes of the faithful. Sometimes, how- 
ever, he was obliged in spite of him- 
self to leave a festal appearance at 
the holy place. This was when the 
ingenious piety of its visitors had 
strewn the Grotto with innumerable 
rose-leaves, and it was impossible for 
him to pick up the thousand remains 
of flowers which formed its brilliant 
and perfumed carpet. 

The kneeling crowds continued 
meanwhile to pray, without making 
any reply to this provoking conduct, 
and let matters take their course ; 
showing an extraordinary patience, 
such as God alone can give to an in- 
dignant multitude. 

One evening, the report was spread 
that the emperor or his minister had 
asked for the prayers of Bernadette. 
M. Dutour raised a shout of tri- 
umph, and prepared to save the state. 
Three good women, who, as it 
seems, had made such a statement, 
were brought before the court, and 
the procureur demanded that they 
should be treated according to all the 
rigor of the French law. Notwith- 
standing his indignant eloquence, 
the judges acquitted two and con- 
demned the other only to a fine of five 
francs. The procureur, dissatisfied 
with this small amount, insisted upon 
his suit, and made a desperate appeal 
to the imperial court at Pan, which, 
smiling at his anger, not only confirm- 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 


ed the acquittal of the two, but also 
refused to sustain the very small 
judgment pronounced against the 
third culprit, and dismissed the charge 

We mention this little occurrence, 
though an insignificant one in itself, 
to show how keenly the judges were 
upon the watch, and how carefully 
they searched for some offence, for 
some opportunity to be severe, since 
they employed their time in prosecu- 
ting poor simple women whose inno- 
cence was soon after declared by the 
imperial court. 

The people still continued quiet, 
and afforded no pretext to the autho- 
rities for making an attack upon them 
in the name of the law. 

One night, under cover of the 
darkness, unknown hands tore up the 
conduits of the miraculous spring, 
and covered its waters with heaps of 
stone, earth, and sand. Who had 
raised this vile monument against the 
work of God, what impious and 
cowardly hands had secretly com- 
mitted such profanation, were not 
known. But when the day broke, 
and the sacrilege became known, a 
sullen indignation, as might have been 
foreseen, pervaded the multitudes who 
were collected at the place, and that 
day the people filled the streets and 
roads in agitation like that of the 
sea when it foams and roars under a 
violent wind. The police, magistra- 
cy, and sergcnts-de--ville were on the 
watch, spying and listening, but they 
could not report a single lawless ac- 
tion or seditious word. The divine 
influence which maintained order 
among these enraged multitudes was 
evidently invincible. 

But who, then, was the author of 
this outrage? The judges and police, 
in spite of their active and zealous 
endeavors, did not succeed in detect- 
ing him. Hence it happened that 
some evil-minded persons dared to 

suspect the police and judiciary them- 
selves (though evidently with great in- 
justice) of having tried by this means 
to produce some disorders, in order to 
have an occasion to proceed with 

The municipal authority most ear- 
nestly exculpated itself from all 
connivance in the affair. That very 
evening, or the next day, the mayor 
gave orders to replace the conduits, 
and to clear the floor of the grotto 
of all the rubbish with which the 
fountain had been obstructed. The 
mayor's policy was to not assume 
personally any decided position, but 
to keep things as they were. He 
was ready to act, but always as a 
subordinate, upon the prefect's or- 
ders and responsibility. 

Sometimes the people, fearing that 
they would not be able to control 
their feelings, took precautions against 
themselves. The association of stone- 
cutters, numbering some four or five 
hundred, had planned to make a 
great but peaceful demonstration at 
the grotto, and to go there in pro- 
cession singing canticles in honor of 
their patron feast of the Ascension, 
which came that year on the ijth of 
May. But, feeling their hearts indig- 
nant and their hands unsteady under 
these proceedings of the authorities, 
they distrusted themselves, and gave 
up the idea. They contented them- 
selves with relinquishing on that day 
in honor of our Lady of Lourdes the 
ball they were accustomed to give 
every year to conclude their festival. 

"We intend," said they, "that no 
disturbance, even though unintention- 
al, and no entertainment not approv- 
ed by the church, shall occur to offend 
the eyes of the Holy Virgin who has 
deigned to visit us." 

THE prefect perceived all the time, 
more and more, that coercion of any 


Our Lady of Lourdes, 

ordinary kind was impossible for him 
on account of this surprising quiet- 
ness, this peace as irritating as it was 
wonderful, which maintained itself 
without exterior force in these great 
collections of people. There was 
not even an accident to disturb it. 
He was therefore obliged either to re- 
trace his steps in the course which he 
had thus far pursued, and to leave 
the people quite alone, or to come 
to open violence and persecution by 
finding' some pretext for the imposi- 
tion of arbitrary restraints upon them. 
It was necessary either to recede or 
to advance. 

On the other hand, the variety and 
suddenness of the cures which had 
been worked seemed to many good 
people rather poorly explained by the 
therapeutic and mineral properties 
ascribed to the new spring. Doubts 
were raised as to the strict accuracy 
of the scientific decision which had 
been given by M. Latour de Trie. 
A chemist of the vicinity, M. Thomas 
Pugo, claimed that this water was in 
no way extraordinary, and had not of 
itself any healing properties whatso- 
ever ; and in this he was sustained by 
several other very capable professors 
in the province. Science was begin- 
ning to assert the entire incorrectness 
of the De Trie analysis ; and the ru- 
mors to this effect had become so 
strong that the municipal council of 
Lourdes took cognizance of them. 
The mayor could not refuse to grati- 
fy the general desire to have a second 
analysis made of the water from the 
grotto. He, therefore, without con- 
sulting the prefect (which seemed to 
him useless on account of the convic- 
tion entertained by the latter of the 
accuracy of the results of M. Latour), 
procured from the municipal council 
a vote authorizing him to obtain a 
new and definitive analysis from Prof. 
Filhol, one of the principal chemists 
of our day. The council at the same 

time voted the funds required for the 
due compensation of the celebrated 

M. Filhol was a man of authority 
in modern science, and his decision 
would evidently not be open to ap- 

What would be the result of his 
analysis ? The prefect was not 
chemist enough to tell ; but we think 
we cannot be much mistaken in 
thinking that he must have been 
somewhat uneasy. The verdict of 
the eminent professor of chemistry 
of the faculty of Toulouse might, in 
fact, disturb the combinations and 
plans of M. Massy. Haste was be- 
coming imperative, and on this 
ground especially it was necessary 
to fall back or press forward. 

In the midst of such various pas- 
sions and complicated calculations, 
people had not failed to subject Ber- 
nadette to some new trials as useless 
as the preceding ones. 

She had been preparing to make 
her first communion, and made it on 
Corpus Christi, the 3d of June. This 
was the very day on which the muni- 
cipal council of Lourdes requested 
M. Filhol to analyze the mysterious 
water. Almighty God, entering into 
the heart of this child, made also 
the analysis of a pure fount, and we 
may well believe that he must have 
admired and blessed, in this virginal 
soul, a most pure spring and a most 
transparent crystal. 

Notwithstanding the retirement in 
which she preferred to hide herself, 
people continued to visit her. She 
was always the innocent and simple 
child whose portrait we have endea- 
vored to present. She charmed all 
those who conversed with her by her 
candor and manifest good faith. 

One day, a lady, after an interview 
with her, wished, in a moment of en- 
thusiastic veneration easily conceiv- 
able by those who have seen Berna- 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 


dette, to exchange her chaplet of 
precious stones for that of the child. 

" Keep your own, madam," said 
she, showing her modest implement 
of prayer. " You see what mine is, 
and I had rather not change. It is 
poor, like myself, and agrees better 
with my poverty." 

An ecclesiastic tried to make her 
accept some money; she refused. 
He insisted, only to be met by a 
refusal so formal that a longer re- 
sistance seemed useless. The priest, 
however, did not yet consider his 
case as lost. 

" Take it," said he ; " not for your- 
self, but for the poor, and then you 
will have the pleasure of giving an 

" Do you, then, make it yourself 
for my intention, M. 1'Abbe, and that 
will do better than if I should make 
it myself," answered the child. 

Poor Bernadette intended to serve 
God gratuitously, and to fulfil the 
mission with which she had been en- 
trusted without leaving her honora- 
ble poverty. And yet she and the 
family were sometimes in want of 

At this time the salary of the pre- 
fect, Baron Massy, was raised to 
25,000 francs. Jacomet also received 
a gratuity. The Minister of Public 
Worship, in a letter which was com- 
municated to several functionaries, 
assured the prefect of his perfect sat- 
isfaction, and, while commending all 
that he had so far done, he urged 
him to take energetic measures, add- 
ing that, at all costs, the grotto and 
miracles of Lourdes must be put an 
end to.* 

On this ground, as well as on all 

* This letter of M. Rouland, the text of which, in 
spite of all our efforts, we have not been able to 
procure, was communicated to several persons, 
and all the correspondence before us mentions it, 
giving it in the same terms which we have just 

the others, it was necessary either to 
retreat or to advance. 

But what could be done ? 


THE plan of the divine work was 
gradually being developed with its ad- 
mirable and convincing logic. But at 
that time no one fully recognized the 
invisible hand of God directing ail 
the events, manifest as it was, and 
M. Massy least of all. The midst 
of the melee is not the best position 
from which to judge the order of bat- 
tle. The unfortunate prefect, who 
had set out upon the wrong track, 
saw in what occurred only a provok- 
ing series of unpleasant incidents and 
an inexplicable fatality. If we remove 
God from certain questions, we are 
very likely to find in them something 

The progress of events, slow but 
irresistible, was overthrowing succes- 
sively all the theses of unbelief, and 
forcing this miserable human philoso- 
phy to beat a retreat and to abandon 
one by one all its intrenchments. 

First, the apparitions had occurred. 
Free thought had at the outset de- 
nied them out-and-out, accusing the 
seer of being only a tool, and of hav- 
ing lent herself to carry out a decep- 
tion. This thesis had not stood be- 
fore the examination of the child, 
whose veracity was evident. 

Unbelief, dislodged from this first 
position, fell back on the theory of 
hallucination or catalepsy. " She 
thinks she sees something; but she 
does not. It is all a mistake." 

Providence meanwhile had brought 
together from the four winds its 
thousands and thousands of witness- 
es to the ecstatic states of the child, 
and in due time had given a solemn 
confirmation to the truth of Berna- 
dette's story by producing a miracu- 
lous fountain before the astonished 
eyes of the assembled multitudes. 


Our Lady of Lourdcs. 

" There is no fountain," was then 
the word of unbelief. " It is an infil- 
tration, a pool, a puddle ; anything 
that you please, except a fountain." 

But the more they publicly and 
solemnly denied it, the more did the 
stream increase, as if it had been 
a living being, until it acquired pro- 
digious proportions. More than a 
hundred thousand litres (twenty-two 
thousand gallons) issued daily from 
this strange rock. 

"It is an accident ; it is a freak of 
chance," stammered the infidels, con- 
founded and recoiling. 

Next, events following their inev- 
itable course, the most remarkable 
cures had immediately attested the 
miraculous nature of the fountain, 
and giyen a new and decisive proof 
of the divine reality of the all-power- 
ful apparition whose mere gesture 
had brought forth this fountain of life 
under a mortal hand. 

The first move of the philosophers 
was to deny the cures, as they had 
before denied Bernadette's sincerity 
and the existence of the fountain. 

But suddenly these had become so 
numerous and indubitable that their 
opponents were obliged to take yet 
another step in retreat, and admit 

" Well, granted ; there are some 
cures certainly, but they are natural ; 
the spring has some therapeutic in- 
gredients," cried the unbelievers, hold- 
ing in their hands some sort of a 
semblance of chemical analysis. And 
then instantaneous cures, absolutely 
unaccountable upon such a hypothe- 
sis, were multiplied ; and at the same 
time, in various places, conscientious 
and skilful chemists declared dis- 
tinctly that the Massabielle water had 
not any mineral properties, that it 
was common water, and that the 
official analysis of M. Latour de Trie 
was meant simply to please the pre- 

Driven in this way from all the in- 
trenchments in which, after their suc- 
cessive defeats, they had taken re- 
fuge ; pursued by the dazzling evi- 
dence of the fact; crushed by the 
weight of their own avowals; and 
not being able to take back these 
successive and compulsory avowals, 
publicly registered in their own news- 
papers, what remained for the phi- 
losophers and free-thinkers to do ? 
Only to surrender humbly to truth. 
Only to bow the head, bend the knee, 
and believe ; only to do that which 
the ripe grain does when its cells be- 
gin to fill. 

" The same change has taken 
place," says Montaigne, " in the truly 
wise, as in the stalks of wheat, which 
rise up and hold up their heads erect 
and proud as long as they are emp- 
ty, but, when they are full and dis- 
tended with the ripe grain, begin to 
humble themselves, to bend toward 
the ground. So men, when they 
have tried and sounded all things, 
. . . renounce their presumption 
and recognize their natural con- 

Perhaps the philosophers of Lou rdes 
had not an intellect open or strong 
enough to receive and hold the good 
grain. Perhaps pride made them in- 
flexible and rebellious to manifest evi- 
dence. At any rate, with the happy ex- 
ception of some who were converted, 
that change did not come to them 
which has come to those who are truly 
wise, and they continued to keep the 
lofty and proud attitude of the empty 

Not only did their attitude remain 
thus, but their impiety, after being 
disgracefully pursued from one quib- 
ble, sophism, or falsehood to anoth- 
er, and finally driven against the 
wall, suddenly unmasked itself and 
showed its real face. It passed, as 
we may say, from the domain cf 
discussion and reasoning, which it 

Our Lady of Lourdes. 


had been trying to usurp, to that of 
intolerance and violence, which was 
its proper home. 

Baron Massy, who was perfectly 
informed as to the state of public 
feeling, understood with his rare sa- 
gacity that, if he took arbitrary mea- 
sures and resorted to persecution, he 
would have a considerable moral 
support in the exasperation of the 
unbelievers, who were defeated, hu- 
miliated, and furious. 

He also had been defeated as yet in 
the contest similar to, if not exactly 
the same as, theirs, which he had been 
carrying on against the supernatural. 
All his efforts had come to nothing. 

The supernatural, beginning at the 
base of a desolate rock and announc- 
ed only by -the voice of a child, had 
entered upon its course, overthrowing 
all obstacles, drawing the people with 
it, and gaining to itself on the way 
enthusiastic acclamations, prayers, 
and the cries of gratitude from the 
popular faith. 

Once more, what remained to be 

One course yet remained : to re- 
sist evidence, and to make an attack 
upon the multitude. 


IN the midst of all these turns of 
fortune, the question of the prefecto- 
ral stables had become more and 
more exciting, and greatly increased 
the prefect's exasperation. The 
month of June had come. The sea- 
son at the watering-places was be- 
ginning, and would soon bring to 
the Pyrenees bathers and tourists 
from all parts of Europe, and show 
them the disturbance which the su- 
pernatural was making in the depart- 
ment governed by Baron Massy. The 
instructions of M. Rouland were be- 
coming most urgent, and pointed to 
summary proceedings. On the 6th 

of June, M. Fould, the Minister of 
Finance, stopped at Tarbes on his 
way to his summer residence, and 
had a long interview with M. Massy. 
It was rumored that this conference 
related to the events at the grotto. 

The act of drinking at a spring 
upon the common land of the town 
could not be considered as in itself 
an offence against the law. The first 
thing to be done by the opponents 
of superstition was therefore to find 
a pretext for so regarding it. Arbi- 
trary proceedings have not in France 
the official right which they enjoy in 
Russia or Turkey, but need a cover 
of law. 

The able prefect had an idea on 
this subject as ingenious as it was 
simple. The site of the Massabielle 
Cliffs belonging to the town of 
Lourdes, the mayor, as its adminis- 
trator, could prohibit any one from 
visiting them, for or even without any 
reason whatever, in the same way as 
any private owner of land forbids at 
his pleasure the trespass of others 
upon it. Such a prohibition, public- 
ly announced, would turn each visit 
to the grotto into a formal crime. 

The plan of the baron hinged upon 
this idea ; and, having hit upon it, he 
decided to act it out and play the 

Accordingly, on the following day, 
the mayor of Lourdes was instruct- 
ed to issue the following order : 

" The mayor of the town of Lourdes, 
acting under the instructions address- 
ed to him by the superior authorities, 
and under the laws of the i4th and 
aad of December, 1789, of the i6th 
and 24th of August, 1790, of the 
igth and 22d of July, 1791, and of 
the i8th of July, 1837, on Municipal 
Administration ; 

" And considering that it is very 
desirable, in the interest of religion, to 
put an end to the deplorable scenes 
now presented at the Grotto of Mas- 


Our Lady of 

sabielle, at Lourdes, on the left bank 
of the Gave; 

" Also, that the care of the local pub- 
lic health devolves upon the mayor, and 
that a great number, both of citizens 
and strangers, come to draw water 
from a spring in the aforesaid grotto, 
the water of which is suspected on good 
grounds to contain mineral ingredients, 
making it prudent, before permitting 
its use, to wait for a scientific analy- 
sis to determine the application which 
may be made of it in medicine ; and, 

" Also, that the laws subject the 
working of mineral springs to a prelimi- 
nary authorization by government : 

' Issues the following 


"i. It is forbidden to draw water 
at the aforesaid spring. 

"2. It is also forbidden to pass 
through the common land known as 
the bank of Massabielle. 

" 3. A barrier will be put up at the 
entrance to the grotto to prevent ac- 
cess ; and 

" Posts will be set bearing these 
words : ' It is forbidden to enter this 
property. 1 

" 4. All transgressions of this decree 
will be prosecuted according to law. 

" 5. The Commissary of Police, 

" The Gendarmerie, 

" The Gardes Champetres, 

" And the authorities of the com- 

" Are entrusted with the execution 
of this decree. 

" Signed in the mayor's office at 
Lourdes, on the 8th of June, 1858. 

" The Mayor, A. LACADE. 
" Approved : 

" The Prefect, O. MASSY " 

IT was not without some hesitation 
that M. Lacade consented to sign 
and undertake to execute this decree. 

His character, somewhat wanting n 
decision and inclined to compromise, 
necessarily disinclined him to such a 
manifest act of hostility against the 
mysterious power which hovered in- 
visibly over the events which had 
centred round the grotto at Lourdes. 
On the other hand, the mayor, as 
was very proper, enjoyed the exer- 
cise of his office, and perhaps had 
even a little undue fondness for it ; 
and his alternative was either to be- 
come the instrument of the prefec- 
toral violence or to resign the honors 
of the mayoralty. Although per- 
haps not really trying, the situa- 
tion was certainly embarrassing for 
the chief-magistrate of Lourdes. M. 
Lacade hoped, however, to conciliate 
all parties by requiring M. Massy, as 
a condition of his signature, to insert 
at the head of the decree, at the very 
outset, the words, " Acting under the 
instructions addressed to him by the 
superior authorities," as above. 

" In this way," said the mayor to 
himself, " I assume no responsibility 
before the public or in my own eyes. 
I have not taken the initiative, but 
remain neutral. I do not command, 
but only obey. I do not give this 
order, but receive it. I am not the 
author of this decree, I only execute 
it. All the blame rests upon my im- 
mediate superior, the prefect." 

Coming from a soldier in a regi- 
ment drawn up for battle, such rea- 
soning would have been irreproach- 

Having reassured himself on this 
principle, M. Lacade took measures 
for the execution of the prefectoral 
edict, having it published and put on 
the walls in all parts of the town. At 
the same time, under the protection 
of an armed force and the direction 
of Jacomet, barriers were put up 
around the Massabielle rocks, so that 
no one, except by breaking through 
or climbing over them, could reach 

Our Lady of Lourdcs. 


the grotto and the miraculous foun- 
tain. Posts with notices, as pre- 
scribed by the decree, were also set up 
here and there at all points of en- 
trance to the common land which 
surrounded the venerable spot. They 
prohibited trespass under pain of 
prosecution. Some sergents-de-vilk 
and gardes kept watch day and night, 
being relieved hourly, to prepare pro- 
ces-verbaux against all who should 
pass these posts to kneel in the vicin- 
ity of the grotto. 


THERE was at Lourdes a judge of 
the name of Duprat, who was as 
violently opposed to the supernatur- 
al as Jacomet, Massy, Dutour, and 
others of the constituted authorities. 
This judge, not being able under the 
circumstances to sentence the delin- 
quents to anything more than a very 
small fine, contrived an indirect 
method to make the fine enormous 
and truly formidable for the poor 
people who came to pray before the 
grotto, and to beg from the Blessed 
Virgin, one the restoration of health, 
another the cure of a darling child, 
a third some spiritual favor or con- 
solation under some great affliction. 

M. Duprat then imposed upon 
each offender a fine of five francs. 
But, by a conception worthy of his 
genius, he united under a single sen- 
tence all who disregarded the prefec- 
toral prohibition, either by forming a 
party together, or even, as it would 
seem, by visiting the grotto in the 
course of the same day ; and he 
made each liable to the whole 
amount of the fine. Thus, if one or 
two hundred persons came in this 
way to the rocks of Massabielle, each 
one of them was responsible not only 
for himself, but also for the others, 
that is, to the extent of five hundred 
or a thousand francs. And as the 

individual and original fine was only 
five francs, the decision of this ma- 
gistrate was without appeal, and 
there was no way to correct it. 
Judge Duprat was all-powerful, and 
it was thus that he used his power. 


SUCH an outrageous interference in 
Jhe important question which had 
for some months been pending on 
the banks of the Gave implied on 
the part of the authorities not only 
the denial of the supernatural in this 
particular case, but also that of its 
possibility. If this had been admit- 
ted for an instant, the measures of 
the administration would have been 
entirely different; they would have 
had for their object the examination, 
not the suppression, of the contro- 

One thing had been absolutely cer- 
tain, namely, the cures; whether they 
had been brought about by the min- 
eral qualities of the water, by the 
imagination of the patients, or by 
miraculous intervention, these cures 
were indubitable, and officially re- 
cognized by the infidels themselves, 
who, not being able to deny them, 
merely tried to explain them on some 
natural principle. 

The faithful and perfectly trustwor- 
thy witnesses to the efficacy of the 
water in their own cases could be 
counted by hundreds. There was 
not a single one who reported that 
its effects had been prejudicial. Why, 
then, all these prohibitory measures, 
these barriers put up, this menacing 
armed force, these persecutions ? 
And why, if such measures were 
proper, should not the principle be 
carried out further ? Why not close 
every place of pilgrimage where a 
sick person has been restored to 
health, every church where any one. 


The Shamrock Gone West. 

has received an answer to prayer? 
This question was in every mouth. 

" If Bernadette," said one, " with- 
out saying anything about visions and 
apparitions, had simply found a min- 
eral spring possessing powerful heal- 
ing virtues, what government would 
ever have forbidden sick people to 
drink of it ? Nero himself would not 
have gone so far ; in all countries, a 
reward would have been given to the 
child. But here the sick people 
kneel and pray, and these liveried 
subalterns, who crouch before their 
masters, do not like to have any one 
prostrate himself before God. This 
is the real reason. It is prayer which 
is persecuted." 

" But shall we allow superstition ?" 
said the free-thinkers. 

" Is not the church able to take 
care of that and to guard the faithful 
against error? Let her act in her 
own province, and do not make an 
oecumenical council out of the pre- 

fecture, and an infallible pope out of 
a prefect or a minister. What dis- 
order has been caused by these 
events ? None whatever. What 
evil has occurred to justify your pre- 
cautionary measures ? Absolutely 
none. The mysterious fountain has 
only done good. Let the believing 
people go and drink of it, if they 
please. Leave them their liberty to 
believe, to pray, to be healed; the 
liberty to turn to God and to ask 
from heaven consolation in their 
grief. You who demand free thought, 
let prayer also be free." 

But neither the antichristian phi- 
losophy nor the pious prefect of 
Hautes Pyrenees would consent to 
notice this unanimous protest, and 
the severe measures were continued. 

The intolerance of which the ene- 
mies of Christianity so unjustly accuse 
the Catholic Church is their own 
ruling passion. They are essentially 
tyrants and persecutors. 




ABOUT a generation ago, there 
might have been seen moving across 
the Wabash Valley, Indiana, one of 
those heavy-built wagons, with broad 
canvas tops, known in the West as 
prairie schooners. The wheels, which 
had not been greased since they left 
New Hampshire, were creaking dole- 
fully, and the youth who urged on 
the jaded team declared that the 
sound reminded him of the frogs in 
his father's mill-pond. Attached to 
the rear of the wagon was a coop, 

containing a rooster and half a dozen 
hens, evidently suffering from their 
long confinement ; while underneath 
the coop, swinging to and fro, as if 
keeping time to the music of the 
wheels, was a bucket. 

Nat Putnam held the reins with a 
tight grip, his eyes were fixed straight 
in front of him, and his steeple crown- 
ed hat, which looked as if it might 
have been a legacy from one of his 
Puritan forefathers, was placed as far 
on the back of his head as possible, 

Shamrock Gone West. 


so as not to obstruct the view. He 
was perhaps twenty-one or two years 
of age ; but it would have been rash 
to gauge his wisdom by the date of 
his birth. If ever there was a Yankee 
hard to, it was our friend, and 
his mother had often declared that 
her boy could see through a stone 
wall. The very shape of his nose, 
which was not unlike an eagle's beak, 
warned you to be on your guard 
when you were making a trade with 
him ; while his face, spotted all over 
with freckles, could readily assume 
every expression from highest glee 
to deepest melancholy ; thus enabling 
him to fill whatever post in life might 
be most congenial, were it circus 
clown or ruling elder. 

" Mr. Putnam, when are we going 
to halt ?" inquired a female voice, 
which seemed to come from the in- 
terior of the wagon. Before the 
youth answered, the speaker had 
placed herself at his side and was 
gazing at him with a woeful look. 
Poor thing ! well might she ask the 
question. Ever since he had picked 
her up in the State of New York, he 
had kept travelling on and on, until 
Mary O'Brien thought he was never 
going to stop. Her father, who had 
been with them the first week of the 
journey, had died, and Nat had only 
tarried long enough to bury the old 
man, and let the daughter say a few 
prayers over his grave. 

" Don't find fault," he replied. 
" The spirit moves me to keep push- 
ing West ; the further I go, the better 
I feel. This everlasting woods must 
come to an end by-and-by, and when 
we reach the open country you'll not 

" But I'm quite worn out," pursu- 
ed Mary ; " and my shamrock is tired 
too. If you'd only rest and make a 
home, and let me plant it ! The jolting 
of the wagon and the want of sunlight 
is killing it. Poor shamrock !" Here 

she left the seat, but presently re- 
turned, carrying a box filled with 
earth, in which was a little three-leaf- 
ed clover. 

" See," she exclaimed, " how differ- 
ent it looks from a month ago. 'Tis 
drooping fast." As she spoke she 
gave the plant a kiss. Her compa- 
nion glanced at her a moment, then 
with a smile of pity, " How old are 
you ?" he asked. 

" Eighteen." 

" Humph ! I guess you're out of 
your reckoning. If you were that 
old, you'd chuck that piece of grass 
away and take to something serious. 
There's my Bible, why don't you read 
a chapter now and then ? 'Twould 
instruct you, and keep me from get- 
ting rusty a thing I'd deeply regret, 
for I may take to exhorting if farm- 
ing don't pay." 

" Throw my shamrock out of the 
wagon ! Why, Mr. Putnam, 'twas fa- 
ther's, and he brought it all the way 
from Tipperary. I'm going to keep 
it as long as I live, I am. It may 
wither, but I'll never throw it away. " 

"Well, well, as you like. But I 
repeat why can't you read the Bible 
once in a while, instead of wasting 
your time playing with a lot of dried 
peas ? Do they come from Tippe- 
rary, too ?" 

" Oh ! these are my beads," she re- 
plied, taking her Rosary from her 
pocket ; " and it's praying I am, when 
you see me slipping these little round 
things through my fingers." 

" Praying ! Then you must have 
prayed a heap. Are you in earnest ?" 

" I am." 

" Well, can't your spirit be moved 
without using them peas, or beads 
as you call them ? It seems to me 
they must bother you." 

" I use 'em, sir, to keep count, or 
I mightn't say all the Hail Marys and 
Our Fathers." Here Nat started, and 
lifting his sandy eyebrows, "Aha!" 


The Shamrock Gone West. 

he exclaimed. "So! Indeed! Then 
'twas keeping a tally of your prayers ? 
Well, now, there's something in that. 
I really didn't believe you were so 
'cute. The devil couldn't say that 
you hadn't been square on your de- 
votions when you'd kept a strict tal- 

The girl smiled, then, bowing her 
head, seemed to be whispering some- 
thing to the shamrock. 

" Different from other gals !" 
thought Putnam, as he glanced at 
the pale face and long, raven hair, 
which without braid or ribbon flowed 
down until it rested on the bottom of 
the wagon. " Yes, different from 
other gals ! Can't quite make her 
out. She ain't a child, yet seems like 
one. Keeping a tally of her prayers 
is the first sign of her being 'cute. 
But that's a beginning anyhow. I'll 
educate her little by little. Oh ! if 
she'd only take to the Bible." Here 
he gave the reins a jerk, then asked 
Mary to read him a chapter from the 
Book of Proverbs. 

" I can't read," she frankly replied. 

" Can't read ! Can't read ! That 
I won't believe. Why, there's Jemi- 
ma Hopkins, in Conway, where I 
come from, that not only reads, but 
has started on a lecturing tour ; and 
she ain't let me see ; she was born 
the year of the comet no she ain't a- 
day over fourteen." 

" Well, I'm not Jemima Hopkins." 

" No, that you ain't ; Jemima is a 

" And I'm a goose." 

" But don't own it," said the youth. 
" Talk as little as possible, and then 
the world may not find it out. Why, 
I know a chap in Conway that passes 
for ' lamed,' and all 'cause he has the 
toothache every time he's asked to 
make a speech. You see, he puts 
on a wise look, holds his tongue, and 
has so humbugged the folks that they 
call him Uncle Solomon." 

" Well, I don't want to be taken 
for what I'm not," rejoined Mary, a 
tear trickling down her cheek. 

" What ails you now ?" exclaimed 
Nat. " Oh ! how different you are from 
Jemima Hopkins !" The girl made 
no response, but sighed, " Father, fa- 

" The old man's underground," 
pursued the youth, in as soft a voice 
as he could assume. " Crying won't 
bring him back. Dry your eyes, and 
vow to smash to atoms every whis- 
key-bottle that ever comes within 
your reach. I suspect his constitution 
was undermined by habits of intem- 

" Father didn't drink in Ireland," 
sobbed the girl. " 'Twas at that hor- 
rid grog-shop in New York he got the 

" Pure fountain water," murmured 
Nat, rolling his eyes toward the hea- 
vens, " what a blessed thing thou art ! 
Those who give thee up for alcohol 
make a poor swap." Then suddenly 
fixing his gaze on the young wo- 
man, " Mary," said he, " I never but 
once tasted liquor. 'Twas at a cattle 
show year afore last ; and do you 
know what happened ? I paid two 
hundred and fifty dollars for a horse 
that was foundered and kicked so bad 
I couldn't drive him home. Now 
that's something I'd never have done 
if my head had been clear ; but 'twas 
a lesson a good lesson, and I told 
Jemima Hopkins (who got wind of 
it women find out everything) to 
make her first lecture on temper- 

The young woman, who seemed 
not to have been listening to this epi- 
sode in his history, was now moaning 
piteously for her father, nor did she 
cease until her companion in an agi- 
tated tone bade her keep quiet. 
" Your lamentations," he said, " are 
horrible to listen to." 

" Don't you love your father ?" 

The Shamrock Gone West. 


spoke Mary, gazing at him through 
her tears. " Wouldn't you cry if he 
were dead ?" 

" Cry if he were dead !" repeated 
the youth with a shudder. " Oh ! 
why did you ask me that question ? 
You're a strange being. Who gave you 
power to look into my heart ? Do 
you know that I quarrelled with the 
old man, and left without saying good- 
by, and every mile I've travelled his 
last look has haunted me ? ' I am 
near the grave,' he said, ' don't aban- 
don me. Attend the mill, 'twill soon 
belong to you.' But I laughed in 
his face. ' The mill,' said I, ' is out 
of repair, and only fit to shelter rats 
and swallows; while the soil won't 
yield more than fourteen bushels of 
corn to the acre.' And then I turn- 
ed my back on him." 

" When he's dead, you'll be sorry 
for that," said the girl. " Write home 
and ask his forgiveness. Do, before 
it's too late." 

" Home !" murmured the youth as 
he drove along. " Home !" Oh ! what 
memories were awakened at the sound 
of that word which spoke in a thou- 
sand magic whispers ! He was again 
a little boy seated on his father's 
knee, in the old house at the foot of 
Mount Kearsarge, listening to stories 
of the Revolution. The wind was 
howling the snow coming in through 
the key-hole and under the door a. 
fearful night to be out. But what 
did he care about the tempest ? He 
was safe on his father's knee. 

" Mary," said Putnam, just as they 
reached the foot of a hill, " I'll take 
your advice, and write home the first 
chance I get. And I'll tell the old 
man that I'm sorry for the hard 
words I used. I'll ask him, too, to 
follow me for I'm going to halt by- 
and-by; and I'll make him as com- 
fortable as if he were in New Hamp- 

" Do," said the young woman ; 

" 'twill bring God's blessing on 

Here he placed the reins in her 
hands, then, telling her that he was 
going to reconnoitre and find which 
was the best way to get over the hill, 
he left the wagon with a lighter heart 
than he had known in many a day. 

A little climbing brought him to a 
spot where the ground was again 
level, but where the timber was thick- 
er and the wagon would have hard 
work to get along j and he was won- 
dering if the everlasting forest was 
never coming to an end, when he 
was startled by a rustling noise, and, 
looking round, saw a wild turkey dart 
off her nest, while at the same 
instant ever so many young ones, 
which appeared as if only just hatch- 
ed, began scattering in every direc- 
tion. " I'll catch this fellow," said 
Nat, running after the nearest bird, 
" and make him a present to Ma- 
ry." But, young as it was, the little 
thing managed to reach a clump of 
hazel-bushes about thirty yards dis- 
tant, into which, its pursuer dashed 
only a step behind, and in his excite- 
ment Nat kept straight on, nor did 
he stop until he found himself clear 
of the thicket. But there he came 
to a sudden halt, and for almost a 
minute stood as if rooted to the 
earth. Was the scene which had 
burst upon him a vision of paradise ? 
The forest had ended, the hill sloped 
gently to the west, and before him 
like a boundless sea, fired by the rays 
of the setting sun, lay the prairie of 
Illinois. Then he shouted for Mary, 
who with impatient step hastened up 
the hill, wondering what was the 
matter, and who arrived just as he 
was beginning to sing Old Hundred. 
The glorious view brought tears of 
joy to her eyes, for she felt sure Nat 
had at length found a spot where he 
would be willing to settle down and 
make a home, and, clasping her hands, 


The Shamrock Gone West. 

she likewise offered up a prayer of 

" Isn't this ahead of anything you 
ever dreamed of ?" exclaimed the 
youth, when he had finished the 
hymn. " I've heerd Parson Job 
at camp-meeting trying to picture 
heaven ; but, although I'd not have 
dared say it aloud, yet really I never 
felt as if I'd care a straw about such 
a place as he described fellows with 
wings and harps skipping around, and 
singing hallelujahs for all eternity 
without ever getting out of breath. 
But here is a country I can imagine 
like the home of the blest." 

" Heaven is more beautiful than 
this," rejoined his companion. " Yet 
'tis a glorious country. Oh ! settle 
here, do, and give my shamrock 

" As you say," continued Nat, pat- 
ting her cheek, and at the same time 
piercing her through with his sharp 
gray eyes. " You're my ' Blessing.' 
I owe you more than I ever can pay. 
When you made me promise to write 
home and ask the old man's forgive- 
ness, a load heavier than a millstone 
was taken off my heart. You ain't 
as larned as Jemima Hopkins, and 
you ain't 'cute though keeping a tal- 
ly of your prayers is something, and 
shows what you may become by pro- 
per education but, ignorant as you 
are, there's still a great deal in you." 
Here he left her, and went back for 
the wagon, which, after not a little 
difficulty, he managed to bring across 
the hill ; then, having chosen a spot 
near a spring of water, he unhitched 
the horses, while Mary let out the 
fowls, who clapped their wings as if 
they were mad ; nor did the rooster 
stop crowing until the hens anxious 
to make their nests gathered round 
him, and forced him to hold his tongue 
and be serious. 

As it was sunset, Putnam could do 
little more than reconnoitre the vici- 

nity of the camping-ground, so, shoul- 
dering his rifle, he walked off, leaving 
the girl to prepare the evening meal. 

But Mary had scarcely lit the fire 
when he came running back, and 
pointed out to her a figure on horse- 
back, advancing along the prairie. 
" It may be an Indian," said he. " If 
he's peaceful, I'll read him a chapter 
in the Bible ; if he's ugly, I'll 

In about a quarter of an hour the 
stranger had approached near enough 
for them to discover that he was a 
person of their own race, with long, 
white hair, and a cross hanging at 
his side ; so, throwing down the gun, 
Nat shouted welcome. The travel- 
ler, although astonished to hear a 
human voice, did not draw rein, but 
kept on up the hill, and in another 
moment the youth had grasped his 
hand and was giving it a hearty 

" So soon !" exclaimed the Jesuit 
missionary for such was the charac- 
ter of the new-comer. " Already ! Oh ! 
you Americans are a great people. 
In a few years you will be across the 

" Well, I've fetched up here," said 
Putnam, grinning. " Not that the 
spirit didn't move me to push further 
West ; but yonder gal my ' Bless- 
ing,' as I call her urged me to 

Here the priest glanced at Mary, 
then remarked : 

" Your sister, I suppose, or 
wife ?" 

" I haven't any sister," replied the 
youth, " and ain't ' spliced ' yet. She's 
a gal I picked up as I was coming 
through York State. Her father was 
with her, and I took him along too ; 
but he died in a few days, and I bu- 
ried him on the roadside, and as she 
had no home I told her she'd better 
stick to me. She's awful green, but 
for all that she has her good points, 

The Shamrock Gone West. 


and has made me happier than I've 
been in a long time." 

With this Nat beckoned to Mary, 
who, as soon as she discovered in 
whose presence she was standing, 
fell on her knees, while the missiona- 
ry gave her his blessing. 

That evening the youth, true to 
his promise, wrote an affectionate let- 
ter to his father, which the Jesuit as- 
sured him he would deliver with his 
own hand. " And I will bring you 
an answer," said the latter, " for I 
shall pass this way on my return to 
the mission, which I hope to reach 
before winter sets in." 

The next morning, when Putnam 
awoke, he found that the priest had 
already departed. 

" That," said the youth, " is a point 
in his favor. The early bird catches 
the worms. So, Mary, he was one of 
your preachers ? First I ever saw." 

" I hope you liked him," rejoined 
the girl. 

" Well, his coming so handy to 
take my letter did bend me toward 
him ; yet I don't think I ever could 
sit still under his preaching." 

" And why not ?" 

" 'Cause he's a papist. I've heerd 
enough about 'em." 

To this the young woman made 
no response, but gazed sorrowfully 
at her companion a moment, then 
turned her eyes toward the West. 
The scene was enchanting. The breeze, 
which had risen with the dawn, was 
coming joyously over the prairie, 
brushing aside the mist, gathering up 
the perfume of ten thousand flowers, 
and touched Mary's lips like a breath 
from the Garden of Eden. And as 
it played with her raven hair, and 
brought the roses to her cheeks, Nat 
could not help thinking she was as 
fair as any lass he had ever met in 
New Hampshire. 

" Yet she don't seem to know it," 
he said. " She's very green about 

her beauty." A herd of deer were 
feeding only a short distance away 
in every direction the grouse dotted 
the plain while circling round and 
round, in bold relief against the azure 
sky, was an eagle. 

The whole of this day and the 
next, Putnam kept hard at work fell- 
ing trees to build a log-house, while 
the girl remained near the wagon, 
plying her needle, watching her 
shamrock, which already showed 
signs of renewed life, and gathering 
the eggs, which the hens insisted on 
laying every hour, so as to make up 
for lost time. 

At length, when he had cut down 
trees enough, he bade Mary follow 
him out on the plain, having first 
filled her apron with stakes for what 
purpose she could not imagine. 

" What on earth are you doing ?" 
she exclaimed, after having walked 
by his side almost an hour. 

" Can't you guess ?" he said, halt- 
ing abruptly. " Are you so green as 
all that ?" 

" Upon my word," replied the girl, 
" your conduct is distressing ; yes, it 
frightens me to see you turning and 
twisting in every direction, driving 
these pieces of wood into the ground, 
and counting on your fingers. Oh ! 
what'll become of me if you've gone 
mad ?" 

" Mad ! Ha ! Jemima Hopkins 
wouldn't have said that. Jemima " 

" Was born the year of the comet," 
interrupted his companion, laughing, 
"and I'm only a goose." 

" Well, don't own it if you are ; I'll 
educate you. And now here goes the 
first lesson." With this he lifted his 
forefinger, then shutting one eye, 
" You must know we won't be long in 
such a beautiful spot without company. 
My wagon-tracks will lead many to 
Illinois who wouldn't have stirred 
from the shadow of Mount Kearsarge 
if I hadn't set the example. Me- 


The Shamrock Gone West. 

thinks even now I hear 'em cracking 
their whips and bidding good-by to 
the old folks in Conway. They'll 
come, too, from other parts of New 
Hampshire; ay, by the score and 
hundred they'll come. Now, such 
being the case, why not have a town 
laid out by the time they arrive ? 
And right here where we stand shall 
be our mansion : 'cause, you perceive, 
it's a corner-lot. While yonder, on 
t'other corner so as to be handy in 
case of rain I'll get 'em to build the 
meeting-house ; and oh ! won't I be 
proud when it's finished ! And what 
a fine rooster I'll put on the steeple !" 

" No, put a cross," said the young 
woman, " or I'll not go inside of it." 

" What ! a cross, emblem of popery, 
on this virgin soil, where there's 
never been one seen, unless 'twas 
that which your preacher carried 
yesterday ? No, indeed ! I've heerd 
enough about popery." 

" I'll pray God to enlighten you," 
said the girl, at the same time heav- 
ing a sigh. 

" Well, the more light I get, the 
less I'll want a popish emblem on 
top of the meeting-house." Here 
Nat struck his forehead, then 
gazing at Mary with an expression 
of anger, " Have you come so far 
with me," he said, " to quarrel at 
last ? Bah ! you are a goose." With 
this he turned on his heel and walked 
off, muttering to himself and evident- 
ly very much excited. 

Poor Mary did not open her lips 
again that day, but helped build the 
log-house with the greatest good- will. 
Nor did Putnam address her a single 
word. In fact, it was not until a week 
had gone by and the dwelling was 
almost finished that he so far recov- 
ered from his ill humor as to speak to 
her in a friendly way. 

" Mary," said he, looking proudly 
up at the mud-plastered chimney, 
" this is a good beginning. The first 

house is always the hardest to erect ; 
and you've worked like a beaver. 
Tell me, now, are you still of the same 
mind about the cross ? Will you 
stay away from meeting unless I give 
up my point ?" 

" I will," replied the girl firmly. " I 
want a Catholic Church, or none at 

" Is my ' Blessing ' in earnest ?" 

" Yes, and praying hard that God 
may open your eyes to the truth." 

" Open my eyes ! Well, you're 
the first mortal ever insinuated that 
Nat Putnam wasn't wide-awake. 
But enough ; there's a split between 
us nothing can mend. Alas !" Here 
he walked off to the hill muttering, 
" What a pity ! what a pity ! Ignor- 
ant as she is, there's yet something 
about her which goes to my heart. 
I love Mary O'Brien. I might even 
ask her to become my wife, if she 
hadn't such foolish notions about re- 
ligion. But not content with making 
the sign of the cross afore every 
meal, she actually wants one put on 
top of the meeting-house. What an 
idea ! A cross ! A thing never seen 
on this virgin soil till that old preach- 
er came along." 

For more than an hour the youth 
wandered about the hillside, lament- 
ing Mary's obstinacy and supersti- 
tion, until at length he heard her 
blowing the horn for dinner. 

" Let her blow," he said, " I'm in 
no humor to eat anything. I'll just 
lay down and take a nap." With 
this he threw himself on the ground, 
and was about settling his head on a